


The End is Where We Begin

by NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl



Series: They Used to Shout My Name, Now They Whisper It [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ant-Man (2015) Post-Credits Scene, Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Bisexual Steve Rogers, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-24 01:32:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6136708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlivesAwl/pseuds/OlivesAwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I think things are different between us," he said, holding her close and speaking mostly into her knit hat. "Does that have to be bad?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"I suppose it depends on what kind of different it is." Sharon's voice was muffled in his coat. "But different can be good."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"You're still my favorite thing about the future," he told her.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Her arms tightened. "You're my favorite person."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He had the urge to ask her, if that was really true, why had she gone back to Nate. But he didn't want to ruin the moment, and he didn't want to say something that might hurt her. "Then we'll be all right."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Kicking Sharon Carter Appreciation Month off with a bang!
> 
> The Steve/Sharon centric companion piece to _This is the Start of How it All Ends_. Some scenes and events overlap so it's worth giving that on a read if you're confused.

Steve's life was a masterclass in lost causes. Back during the war, Jones used to call him Don Quixote when he had wandered too far into that territory. He could not personally punch every Nazi in the face. He could not make all the evil in the world right. Never did quite convince him to stop trying.

It was funny then that it was _Sam_ telling him he was tilting at windmills that got the idea of stopping worming into his brain.

"There isn't anything in this file—at all—that indicates there's anything left of your friend in this man." They'd already made the decision to go home. In fact, they were waiting to board a flight back home. Sam was just repeating it like it was going to make Steve feel better.

If only his relationship with Bucky could be classed as anything so simple as 'friendship'. "I know," Steve said, even though he wanted to argue, wanted to list out all his many reasons. All his windmills. They'd been doing this for months now. The trail was cold and had been cold a long time. And since Sokovia he couldn't afford to chase increasingly far-fetched leads in lieu of being home and dealing with all the shit he needed to deal with there.

Sam wanted to get back to his life, and Steve didn't blame him. That Steve didn't really have one of his own wasn't Sam's problem to solve. 

Home—for whatever degree of home Stark Tower managed to be—was at least busy when he got there. The Avengers had scattered to the winds. Banner was missing, Stark was retiring, Thor had gone to follow Jane, Barton had gone home to his farm, and Natasha had packed up Wanda and followed not long after. Carrying the world on his shoulders was at least a familiar weight.

Hill was there, comforting in her familiar efficiency. She was swamped with the logistics of the base upstate Stark wanted to build. But she found time for meetings with him, updating him on the Post-Ultron clean up and keeping her finger on what the world was saying about the Avengers. She was quickly becoming a friend of a sort, something he was starting to feel was in short supply.

He was in his apartment, trying to sketch the view but mostly doodling, when his phone chimed, buzzing against the hard glass of his coffee table.

"Rogers," he answered with.

"Hey, it's me."

Speaking of friends found in the oddest of places. Sharon Carter had become something of a touch stone for him. Removed from the drama of being an Avenger and occasionally practical to a fault, she was an excellent sympathetic ear and occasional lunch buddy when one of them managed to be in the other's city. "Got a minute?" she added. There was something. . . tight in her tone that put him on edge.

"Of course. Is something wrong?"

"No? Probably not, anyway. I'm at the Marriott near the Park. Can you come meet me? I have some stuff I need to show you and I'd rather do it in person."

"You're in town?" His weekend was taking a turn for the better. He reached under the couch for his sneakers. He really needed new ones, but shopping was tedious. "Also, that sounds ominous."

"Well, you know, I work for the CIA. If I don't do the mysterious spook thing at least once a quarter it reflects poorly on my annual review." Well, if she was joking it couldn't be that bad. "Room 318. I'll order us some lunch."

"Are you alone?" he asked. Sharon's boyfriend was nice guy, but he was not tremendously fond of Steve, and tended to add a flavor of awkwardness to things. On the one hand, he could see how your girl being friends with Captain America would put one at unease. On the other hand, Steve didn't like people projecting his intentions.

She laughed a little. "Nate is in Virginia tending to his poor mother who absolutely, totally broke her toe. For real this time. He sends his best."

"I'll be there in five minutes." He'd have gone even if Nate was there, of course. But it was nice to see just her.

He was a little surprised at the chill in the air when he went outside. The fall and winter had so far been fairly mild, especially for the Northeast, but now that they were past Halloween it seemed winter was taking a turn for the worst. Time to dig out the heavy coats and thicker sweaters.

Sharon opened the door on his first knock, holding her arms out for a hug. She was dressed for the weather, in a bright blue cashmere sweater and leather boots that put them almost eye to eye. He picked her up when he hugged her, just on principle, and she squeaked. "Room service is ordered. I got you a third of the menu."

"Because you are a wonderful human being. What brings you to New York?" he asked.

"I have a meeting with the local office." She stepped away and walked over to the little sitting area near the windows. The small table there was covered with papers. "But it was mostly an excuse to bring this up to show you." She beckoned him over. "Since I started with the CIA, I've been their go-to for all things potentially Hydra related."

He went to stand beside her. "I can't believe they're still popping up." He wasn't surprised, really, but it was just. . . exhausting.

"It's slowed down significantly," she admitted. "Which is why when things do pop up it raises flags. After the info dump we worked on getting complete lists of their bases. We raid them if they're active, monitor or clean up if abandoned. It's tedious and not exactly high priority anymore. About five months ago a base in Russia near Vladivostok burned down. This was a building in the middle of nowhere, no neighbors for miles. Normally it would be chalked up to a freak accident. Faulty wiring, hunter careless with a cigarette. But investigators found evidence of two different accelerants as well as some tire tracks."

As she spoke, she lined up photos in front of him. A burnt out building, scorched filing cabinets and metal equipment twisted beyond recognition. As well as several pictures of tire tracks from various angles. "The tracks are from a mid nineties Jeep, of which there are far too many to narrow it down, no help there and no witnesses. No one was hurt and nothing but the base building was damaged so I tucked it in the back of a file and moved on."

She picked up a different file and opened it. "Last month, a couple weeks after Sokovia, another abandoned base was hit. Fire with accelerant, just one, this time. It was a sleeper building in a small city, so no muddy tire prints. But again, a very conscientious arsonist. No injuries, no other building damaged."

"Coincidence?" he asked, though he knew they wouldn't be having this conversation if she thought it was.

"Possible. In any case an investigative dead end. No new information for me to study. And then two nights ago there was another one. And this one was a doozy." She picked up a third file and opened it, showing him a picture of a nondescript, almost gloomy looking building probably built in the seventies. "This one was still functioning. Wasn't on our list yet, but the arson pinged my standard searches so I caught it. Witnesses saw two arsonists. They used chemicals found onsite as their accelerant. Guards shot the larger one twice, but not before he killed two of their scientists." She paused and took a breath. "He was described as having a metal hand on his left arm."

Steve sucked in a breath, and found it hard to expel. "It's him."

She nodded. "When I heard that I went back to the other two fires. Both had large medical equipment that seemed to be the focus of the fires. I had a friend do some recreations of what they might have looked like before the damage." She lined up a series of computer renderings showing what looked like sarcophaguses. "The last two buildings were in western Russia, one near Moscow, the other near the Ukrainian border. Vladivostok is a port. I think - and this is mostly just my gut - I think he's targeting places he was held. The scientists who were killed were both in their sixties. We're still pulling files but I'm willing to bet they were active in the Cold War Asset missions."

"Makes sense, I guess. Covering his tracks? Erasing evidence of his existence?"

"I'd have said revenge, but you know him better than I do."

Steve reached to touch one of the photographs. "Sam is convinced there's nothing of that man left. That he's just. . . The Soldier."

She was quiet a moment. "That doesn't follow, though. He's got someone with him. Multiple witnesses confirmed it." She shuffled through her papers. "There was a break in at a pharmacy later that night. The list of stolen items is a laundry list of things you'd need to treat gunshot wounds. But they also took pain killers." She looked up at him. "He wouldn't use painkillers. So whoever is with him is normal and also injured. And taking care of him."

"You're saying he has an accomplice?"

"Or a partner, yes. No idea who or where he found them or why they're going along with it. But multiple witnesses confirmed a second person. Same height as him, slimmer frame, dark hair."

Steve rubbed his face. "Sam would tell me it's a wild goose chase."

"And he'd probably be right. But I can tell you, with as much certainty as possible, that two nights ago he was in Russia, near the Ukraine and injured." She glanced down at the paperwork. "I shouldn't be telling you this. But I know your leads all went cold. I thought you deserved a chance."

"He saved my life," Steve said quietly. "I'd have drowned in the Potomac."

Reaching out, she took his hand. "I don't think Sam's right. I think there has to have been something of the Bucky you knew left. And he's had months away from Hydra and their conditioning. Maybe that's helped bring more of him back."

And there was why he liked this woman. Steve needed optimists in his life. "Ukraine, huh?"

"I hear the weather is _terrible_ this time of year."

It would probably be cold. Cold, especially cold wind, sent his mind dark places. But he also knew if he didn't move, didn't go while he was likely laid up or moving slower, he'd lose his window and Bucky would vanish back into the mists.

"I set up almost a dozen more alerts before I came up here. If he surfaces, or there's anymore relevant robberies, I'll know."

"I should probably get one a plane though. Or else I'll always be a day behind."

She nodded. "Go. Keep in touch and I'll feed you any information I get."

"I appreciate your help." He grinned. "Wish I could take you with me."

Her smile was almost wistful, enough that he believed her when she said, "Me too, actually. But I'd slow you down, can't just drop everything. Besides, for now I'm probably more help manning the phones."

"Yes. And it might actually kill Nate."

She laughed and nodded. "Yeah. Probably not a fun conversation to have. 'Hey honey, I'm going on a black ops mission with Steve for an indeterminate amount of time.'"

"Let me know what you hear, and I'll let you know what I see." There was a knock on the hotel room door. "And. . . there's our food."

"Well, I can send you on your way with a big meal, at least." She walked to the door to open it and he made a halfhearted attempt to stack up the files to give them more room for the food. 

"When we were in the SSR base in London, Peggy used to sneak me food. They didn't quite grasp my metabolism."

They'd brought a full on wheeled cart for the food, which the waiter parked next to the table while Sharon signed for it. "She used to say ration packs weren't big enough for her, let alone grown men fighting a war. Often followed by a diatribe about how men got condoms and women got abstinence pamphlets." She started lifting lids off the plates. "The least they could have done was a sanitary napkin or two," she added in a dead-on imitation.

"I love it when we've heard the exact same rant, seventy years apart." He claimed a plate full of garlic bread. "Condoms were about saving the army medical corps the expense and hassle of treating syphilis."

Sharon took a seat at the table with a burger and fries. "She used to tell me a lot of age inappropriate stuff. Mom tried to do the sex talk when I was thirteen - and to her credit, was always open about such things. But Aunt Peggy had already given me several pregnancy lectures as well as described exactly how to use a condom and a diaphragm so it was a little late." After liberally salting her fries she continued, "She knew a few girls who got pregnant. Including a nurse who didn't have enough credits to be discharged after D-day so she wouldn't be sent to the Pacific."

"I'm still amazed Howard Stark never knocked anyone up."

"He seems to have passed that luck or poor swimmers onto his son," she pointed out.

Steve laughed. "I never thought of that. Well, we didn't even know about it at the time. But Howard sure handled a lot of radiation." Steve himself had been zapped with quite the dose, come to think of it. Had it made him sterile? Or would the serum fix that? It wasn't exactly a topic that had ever come up.

They were silent for a few minutes as they dug into their food. Mentally, he started going over what he'd need to do to get to the Ukraine. Maria should be able to find him transport.

"How's the upstate compound coming?" Sharon asked, sipping her Coke. 

"They're rushing to get all the lines run and the foundations in before winter."

"Is it bad I hope they get slowed down? It'll be harder to find excuses to visit when you're up there."

"I'm not entirely sure I want to live up there full time. I love New York, and upstate is. . . different."

Of anyone he knew, Sharon probably knew him the best. She certainly knew more about his feelings on cold weather than anyone else. Enough to know what he meant and that he wouldn't want to elaborate. All that was left unsaid when she offered, "You can't take a city boy out of the city. You work best in the anonymity of New York."

"Heck of a commute, though." He didn't think Stark would lend him a helicopter.

"I suppose you do need to be up there for training, huh?" She popped a fry in her mouth. "You could split your time. Or be some sort of very limited snowbird."

"It's not exactly Miami in the city in the winter, either. Maybe I'll get a condo in Ft. Lauderdale like every other senior citizen."

"They have some very nice communities down there," she said with mock sympathy. "I'm sure you'd find somewhere comfortable."

"Maybe I can learn paper maché."

"Or macrame." She snapped her fingers. "Or knitting. Peggy attempted knitting in her later years. Uncle Daniel said she only liked it because the needles looked like weapons."

That made Steve laugh. "Some things never change."

When they'd first started speaking again - at Peggy's funeral a couple months after the fall of SHEILD - he'd been concerned telling her Peggy stories and hearing hers would be strange or depressing. He was talking about her aunt that she had only ever known as an old woman, and she was talking about a beloved older relative, someone he hadn't really known. But he'd found, and Sharon seemed to agree, that telling and hearing the stories helped them grieve. Together, they painted a whole picture of a rich, vibrant woman they had both loved. It was a wonderful, unique thing.

"She'd tell you to keep trying," Sharon said softly. "She believed in second chances."

"She acted like she thought I could do anything. I don't know if it was true, pragmatic as she was about everything else. But it was something I so desperately needed."

Their plates were mostly empty, he'd moved onto his next meal, but Sharon leaned back to finish her drink. "In school you were this bigger than life figure. Like Washington or Lincoln. When Peggy told your stories the heroics were there, but so was the humanity. I wrote a paper about you and the commandos in history junior year. The teacher gave me a D, saying I'd obviously not done any reading about you as my theories on your motivations were, quote, 'ludicrous.' I asked her if I could make up the grade by doing an oral presentation on the topic - this woman _loved_ oral presentations, I think because there was a high chance of embarrassment." She sipped her drink. "I brought Peggy."

Steve threw back his head and laughed. "Please tell me it was recorded."

"Alas, it was before cellphones. But I did get my grade changed and the teacher changed school at the end of the semester."

"Peggy kept me human," he said. He poked her with his foot. "You've picked up the task quite nicely. Must be a Carter thing."

"We're a proud and stubborn lot." She smiled. "It's an honor and a privilege, Cap."


	2. Chapter 2

About a week or two after Steve went to Eastern Europe, someone broke into another pharmacy in southern Russia. This time the thieves took antibiotics, pain killers and a great deal of gauze. It might have been nothing, but given they knew Barnes's partner had likely been injured and that haul seemed to indicate the treatment of an infected wound, Sharon sent the information to Steve as the closest thing to a lead they had.

Sharon checked the alerts she'd set up for possible Winter Soldier sightings with a frequency that bordered on obsession. It wasn't healthy. This was Steve's problem, not hers and as much as she wanted to be a good friend, she had to balance that with her own life. She had family, friend, a boyfriend that all needed her attention, not to mention a career she that could be in jeopardy if anyone found out she was sending him this information.

Steve came home a few days before Thanksgiving, no closer to finding his friend than he had been when he'd left. Whatever Barnes was now - man or monster - he'd retained some of his ability to be the ghost the intelligence community had once thought him. He, and his partner, had effectively disappeared.

She'd asked him about the holiday, and he'd replied he'd had many offers and that she shouldn't add to the pile he was just going to turn down. She did watch him ride a float in the Macy's parade. The world wasn't entirely sure how it felt about the Avengers, but the US still seemed to love Captain America, so he did a lot of PR. She knew he hated it.

Thanksgiving was with her family this year, so she sat with her nieces and nephews to watch the parade before helping the other women in the kitchen. For a while she was able to thing about other things. No missing assassins, no plots and intrigue. It was nice. 

December was eaten up by Christmas shopping and family drama and more mundane cases. She and Steve talked a couple of times. Work had stopped on the upstate compound because of the extreme cold weather. Steve didn't sound thrilled about that.

"At least I'm in the city," he told her. "And not stuck up there."

“Ah, New York at Christmas. Sick of carols yet?"

"I've been avoiding the stores. I actually like Christmas music, but the modern stuff is crap. They only play secular things, for what is a religious holiday. How often can you sing about snow?"

"Some people like snow," she reminded him. "And not all of the secular songs are that bad."

"Name one."

"Baby, It's Cold Outside."

There was a moment of silence. "The only reason that's considered a Christmas song is because it mentions snow." She heard clanking like he was doing something in the kitchen. "And didn't people nowadays decide it was about date rape? Which it's not, but apparently Hill knows more about the cultural environment in 1944 than I do. Go figure."

She laughed. Grumpy old man Steve was her favorite kind of Steve sometimes. "Well, next time I see Hill I'll give her a lecture on the definition of 'coy.' I like the song. Us non-religious, not kid having people need our winter festivities songs too."

"You have any free weekends?" he asked. "I have a present for you."

"I'd have to check with Nate. It might have to be after the new year. His family _really likes_ Christmas."

"I am in no rush, and don't wish to step on his toes."

And that, among many other things, was why she loved Steve. Nate had never, ever said anything about being jealous of Steve or not wanting her to see him anymore. Mostly because if he had the fight they'd have would rattle the roof. He said he believed her fully when she said there was nothing going on between her and Steve. But that didn't stop the occasional funny face or snarky remark when she mentioned seeing or talking to him.

"Well, good, it'll give me a chance to get you something nice."

"You don't have to," he said immediately. "I know shopping is a hassle. It's not a big thing. Not like I got you a diamond necklace or something."

"I prefer sapphires," she teased. "And I'm sure I can find some shopping time. Not that you're particularly easy to shop for."

"Knit me some socks," he replied.

"I do not knit," she told him. "But I'm sure I'll think of something."

"Have a Merry Christmas, Sharon," he said, warmth in his voice.

She smiled, wishing for a moment that she could spend it with him and not Nate's loud, opinionated family. She shook the thought off almost as soon as it had formed. Annoying though his family was, she loved Nate and wouldn't want to miss a Christmas with him. Someday, maybe, they'd get a holiday to themselves.

"Merry Christmas, Steve. Stay warm."

Christmas was a string of events with the Deacon family, including two dinners and midnight mass and an evening of caroling in their neighborhood. She and Nate exchanged exasperated smiled and rolled eyes when one of his relatives got going on their preferred topic of pontification and generally faced down the ordeal like two soldiers going into battle together.

He got her a lovely silk pajamas and robe set, a necklace with a lock and key charm, and two books of retold fairy tales. They had a few quiet days after Christmas to be alone together, something she'd desperately needed, broken up only by a dinner with her family two days before New Years.

New Years Eve found her slipping into her favorite red cocktail dress to attend a party at one of Nate's colleagues’. He'd been joking about showing off his trophy girlfriend to prove himself the alpha of Georgetown's English department all week and she felt like pulling out all the stops. She was carefully trying to match the makeup on her left eye to that of her right when her phone buzzed. 

Now with crooked eye liner, she picked it up to find a text message from her work alerts. One of her Winter Soldier searches had pinged. Chest tight with a mix of anticipation and dread, she went to her laptop, playing music on the bed, and pulled up the report.

It was from border patrol in Belarus. A mid-nineties Jeep seen near the border crossing. Two occupants, dark haired male driving. The patrol followed for a while but as the Jeep did nothing to act suspicious the guards let it go when called back to base for an urgent search.

It was probably nothing. Dark haired men drove Jeeps, it wasn't a crime. But she found herself pulling up her Hydra files.

There were two known Hydra bases in Belarus. Belarus bordered Russia. The Carters prided themselves on good instincts and right now hers were screaming. She picked up her phone and called Steve.

He answered with, "I'll give you a hundred dollars if you can think of a reason for me to ditch Stark's New Years party."

Well, at least she was going to get money out of this. "Get your checkbook out. What are your thoughts on Belarus?"

"It's about as fun as the Ukraine." He paused. "Do you have cause to think I might find it more interesting?"

She told him about the border patrol report and the Hydra bases. "I know it's thin. It's _really_ thin. But it just. . . feels right."

"This is your business, Carter. I trust your gut. I just. . ." he trailed off.

Calling her Carter was either a good sign or a really bad one. She kept her voice gentle and said, "If you're not up for another ghost hunt you don't need to explain yourself to me. Everyone has a limit and you are only human, no matter what the history books say." She took a deep breath and put a foot on the bridge over the Rubicon. "But if you want to try this I'll come with you. I think the problem is you're chasing a spy. You need another one to catch him."

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice hopeful enough that she knew it had been the right thing to say. It wasn't that he didn't want to keep looking. He was just aware he didn't know how anymore.

"I'm sure. This is the first good intel we've gotten in over a month. There's only two bases to check and it's not a huge country. This is what I do and I'm good at it. Hell, if we leave tonight we might even beat them there."

"I can get us tickets—wait, don't you have plans tonight?"

She looked down at her dress and her shoulders slumped. Nate would understand. She'd just. . . figure out a way to make it up to him. "I'll figure something out. You just get us transport."

"I will." He took a breath. "Sharon. Thank you."

"Thank me when we find him. Talk to you soon." She hung up and sighed, then dialed Nate. "Hi," she said when he answered, sounding somewhat out of breath. "How much will you hate me if I have to cancel tonight?"

"What? Why?" He sounded more concerned than disappointed and guilt gnawed at her.

For a moment she thought about lying. She was a good liar, though she made a point not to do it to friends and lovers. Not big lies anyway. But how easy would it be? _Sorry honey, work calls. Gotta save the world, you know how it is._

But if she was lying to him about Steve then something was really, really wrong with her and her relationships and that was not a road she wanted to go down. "I - A friend is sort of having an emergency and needs me."

She heard him sigh. "Right now? And who?" 

Wincing, she said, "Steve. And it's time sensitive."

"What kind of emergency is Captain America having on New Years Even that requires you?"

Black ops mission in Belarus was not the answer that would lower the snark quotient in his tone. She really couldn't tell him the truth, considering how much of Steve, the Asset, and Hydra hunting was classified. She did her best, though. "He has a mission that overlaps with my work at the CIA. He needs a spy on the ground with him and I need the intel he'll potentially get. Our lead is currently half an hour old and every minute gives the target more time get underground."

"Wait, are you actually going on a mission with him?" Now Nate had moved from irritation to anger.

Fuckit. She started unzipping her dress. No matter the outcome of this impending fight, she was going to Belarus. Might as well get a head start. "Yes. To a freezing cold former Soviet state. It will not be romantic or sexy."

"This is _not_ about that, but thanks for the backhanded accusation that I don't trust you. You don't think this is a little intrusive of him to ask? And what about your _actual_ job?" 

Because if she mentioned the obvious jealousy he had for Steve she was the bad guy. "I have leave at my job till mid-January, I doubt this will take more than a few days. And he _didn't_ ask, I offered, because I know he never would."

There was silence on the other end. "You offered?"

She sighed and wondered if this was the end of it all. At least the date would be easy to remember. "Yes," she said, feeling exhausted suddenly. "He's my friend and he needs my help and I offered it."

He sighed. "If I ditched you on New Years to go do something for a couple of weeks with a female friend of mine who looked like a lingerie model, your friends would want my head on a stake."

"I know," she said quietly. "And I'm really, really sorry about this. I probably should have started with that. But please believe me I wouldn't do this if it wasn't important. And . . . I'll find a way to make it up to you. Maybe we can have a nice dinner party for a bunch of your friends when I'm back. I'll cook something special."

"That's not. . ." he trailed off and sighed again. "Clearly you're going regardless of what I say. Let's just talk about it when you get back."

Considering all the other ways this could go, she was going to take that offer and run with it. "We will, I promise."

"Be safe," he said. "Call me if you can."

"I will. I love you."

"I love you, too," he said, and then he hung up.

Sharon sighed and looked at her phone a moment. At least he's said it back. If he hadn't that would probably meant they were done. She tossed the phone on the bed and went to the bathroom to wipe her make-up off. One thing at a time. Right now, she had a plane to catch.

*

One of Steve's least favorite things about air travel was that it required photo identification. Which meant he had to admit to being Steve Rogers, and also actually look convincingly like Steve Rogers. No disguise. Lots of attention.

He hated air travel.

Two business class same-day tickets had been staggeringly expensive, but he was grateful Stark paid him well enough he didn't have to fold his body into a coach seat for an 8 hour flight to Frankfurt.

Sharon had taken a flight up from DC and was changing terminals. Steve waited at the gate past the business class boarding call, not wanting to get on the plane without her.

The attendants manning the gate were starting to give him stink eye combined with pointed looks at the clock when he finally saw her sprinting down the terminal, black duffle bag bouncing against her hip.

He stood to greet her and she grinned. "Hi, sorry. Flight got in late. Totally abused my badge to get over here."

He folded her into a quick hug. "I've been abusing my Captain America-ness to hold the flight."

"Thank you." She showed the attendants her ticket and ID and they waved them both on. They were closing the door almost before they'd finished getting settled in their seats. The seats would turn into flat-lying beds, though Steve doubted they were long enough he could truly stretch out. For space-saving reasons the seat pairs were angled slightly towards each other. "This arrangement has got to be weird with a stranger."

"Depends on the stranger." She stretched her legs out, then tucked them back. "There's probably porn about it."

"There's porn about everything."

After some chatter from the captain, everyone buckled in and they took off. Sharon glanced out the window at the retreating city lights. Now that the hustle of boarding and settling in was over she seemed quiet and a bit melancholy.

When they'd leveled out she gave herself a little shake and reached for her laptop bag. "If you're up for it I can tell you what I know about the two bases in Belarus."

"You want to talk?" he asked.

She sighed deeply but didn't pretend to misunderstand him. "I don't know that it would help."

"If it doesn't then you won't be any worse off than you are now."

She eyed him a moment, then sighed again. "I had a bit of a fight with Nate."

"About this?" he asked. "I'm sorry, Sharon, I never meant to cause you guys problems."

"It's not-" She shook her head. "It sounds terrible but I'm not even sure what he was mad about, other than my breaking our plans. He got angry when he found out it was you, but when I tried to assure him it was innocent he snapped at me for insinuating I don't trust him. Then later he points out how it would look if _he_ ran off with an attractive female friend." She took her hair out of its pony tail, fluffed it and twisted it into a bun. "I know I was in the wrong for breaking plans, but I just feel like he wouldn't have been this upset if it had been any other friend having an emergency. It's not like this is a pattern. I make an effort to put him first, but emergencies happen."

"Jealousy makes people irrational." He looked over at her. "Peggy ever tell you about the time she shot at me?"

Sharon chuckled. "She may have mentioned it."

"The Colonel's secretary kind of leapt on me and kissed me, and she walked in. Even after she shot at me, she _swore_ she was not jealous."

She nodded and glanced out the window again. "This is the first time he's made such a stink about it. I don't really blame him. I mean, you look like you and there's obvious. . . We're obviously close." She shook her head. "He said we'd talk when I got back. I'll have to see what happens then."

"Relationships are far messier and more complicated than the storybooks make them out to be."

"Ain't that the truth."

"Historians seem to have decided I had one or the other of two epic, romantic love affairs. The only debate exists about which one. Reality never makes that neat a tale." Reality was both, and neither; that kind of thing was only entertaining to people other than the ones living it.

Sharon reached over and touched his knee in sympathy. Like so much about him, she knew more than anyone else. And had always listened with no judgement, though occasional surprise and jokes about tell-all books. She was only the second person he'd ever told that he and Bucky had been lovers once—sort of. And that the end of that had been complicated and what was going on with him and Peggy had only made it more-so. 

"When we find him," she said cautiously and he couldn't help but smile a little at the 'when.' "Are you going to be all right if he doesn't remember?"

"I suppose that depends on who he's become, and what the hell he's doing."

She tilted her head thoughtfully. "There are an awful lot of shades of grey between cleaning house to take over Hydra and wreaking vengeance on those who wronged him."

"If I need to take him in or take him down, it's probably safer for the both of us if he doesn't know how to push my buttons." More than probably, considering that very thought made Steve feel nauseous.

"What about best case scenario? He saved you from the Potomac for good reason and has similarly good reasons for what he's been doing. Have you let yourself think that far?"

He inhaled slowly. "I think it might turn my life upside down. Not that that's new or even particularly uncommon for me."

"Maybe you'll like the way it lands this time," she offered. 

"Every coin flip has even odds," he said, thought he didn't entirely believe it. The look on Sharon's face indicated she knew he wasn't as optimistic as he sounded.

The fight attendants came by with drink service and Sharon got herself a rum and Coke. She lifted it in a little toast. "Happy New Year."

"Thank you for doing this," he said.

"You needed my help." She said it as if it should be obvious. He needed help, so she dropped everything to fly to Belarus for an indeterminate amount of time. This was a totally normal friend thing to do.

But maybe if he mentioned that, that would drift this conversation into territory neither of them wanted anywhere near. "I am still in awe of the people willing to follow me into battle."

"I think it's your occasional resemblance to an earnest golden retriever," she told him solemnly, sipping her drink.

That made him laugh. "A _what?_?"

"You have a particular way of smiling. Your hair flops down and you just give off this adorable puppy vibe."

"I can't decide if I should be offended by that or not."

She was grinning. "It's intended affectionately."

He poked her with his foot. "It's making me want to shave my head."

Gaping in mock horror, she cried, "Noooo. That would be a crime."

"Do I have any other unfortunate nicknames or comparisons I should know about?"

"Your fangirls have a lot of them, if you want to get into that."

He fiddles with the settings on his seat, putting the leg part up so he could stretch them out. "Why do you know them? Do you talk to my fangirls?" He looked over at her with some mock-horror of his own. "Are you one of them?"

"If I was would I tell you?" She finished her drink and set the cup aside to be thrown away. "Googling my name doesn't yield anything interesting. Googling _you_ , however, can result in hours of fun."

"Oh, I know. Natasha did it. Apparently, there's porn."

"And photoshop of varying skill levels."

"I've seen some of that in the tabloids."

"If you ever do get photographed topless you will utterly destroy the internet. Oh!" She waved a hand. "My favorite is there's a group that seems to be obsessed with the idea of you in facial hair. Pages and pages of pictures of you with varying degrees of scruff. It's called Captain Lumberjack."

"I used to be convinced I needed to be clean shaven. Indoctrination from my youth and all. Then I discovered how nice it is not to shave." He rubbed his jaw. "I was planning on letting it grow while we're in Belarus."

She grinned. "Can I get some pictures and be internet famous?"

"You could be internet famous right now if you wanted to." Sharon knew all his secrets. That he didn't worry about that was a sign of how much he trusted her.

With a dismissive hand wave she said, "I'm saving that for a late-in-life tell all. When I'm too old and arthritic to save the world anymore."

"Peggy never wrote one. And she must have gotten offers."

"Oh, God, I'm sure." Sharon adjusted her seat so she could stretch out a bit. She came a bit closer to fitting than he did, though she was still rather tall for a woman. "She was always very. . . protective of you. Tried to resist anything exploitative. She was even skeptical of the Smithsonian thing, though she was past making much of a fuss by the time it was put up."

"They did, at least, consult me. Though they didn't take me seriously when I told them I considered Peggy one of the Howling Commandos." 

She shook her head. "I think you somehow got fifty years worth of progressivism in you and the rest of the country is still catching up."

"They used to say things like women don't need as much money as men because they're just working for pin money. That was certainly news to my mother."

"I went to college with at least three girls who claimed they were just there to find husbands. Because, as we all know, once you graduate college it's impossible to find someone of the opposite sex to date."

"They used to call that getting your M.R.S. degree."

She groaned. "I was trying to avoid the pun."

At the oddest times, it struck him how pretty she was. "You know, whether we find him or not. . . I'm glad you're in this with me."

The words obviously surprised her. But then she smiled and stretched to poke his foot with hers. "Me, too."

"I'll try not to kick you in my sleep."

"I appreciate that. I don't think I'd be very useful to you with a broken leg."


	3. Chapter 3

They landed in Frankfurt mid-morning local time and had enough of a layover to grab breakfast and coffee before running to their connection to Minsk. They got to the Belarus capital in the afternoon and rented an SUV with all weather tires and heated seats. It was within a degree or two of New York temperatures, but over ten degrees colder than DC had been and Sharon was starting to wish she'd brought more sweaters.

"I'm going to be one of those tourists who has to buy a sweatshirt with the city name on it," she complained, studying a map of the country. "I just know it."

"We'll get you an ugly fisherman's sweater instead."

"Maybe something in fair isle." She nodded and refolded the map. "Okay. I think we head south-west, to Salihorsk. There's a base there and coming from Russia they'd hit it first."

"You're the navigator. I don't even read Russian."

"You speak it don't you?" she asked, climbing into the driver's seat. "I thought that was in your file."

"Indeed, but only conversational. Never got around to learning cyrillic."

"Well, between us we should muddle through." The roads were pretty empty - New Years wasn't really a high travel day - and they cruised down P23 at a good clip. "How many do you speak?"

"French, passable Russian, shoddy German. SHIELD had me learning Chinese."

"I know some Chinese. Decent Russian and conversational Spanish and French." She grinned at him. "That should get us just about anywhere in Europe we need to go."

"I can say offensive things in several more languages."

"So could Peggy." Sharon dodged a little case of road rage that was brewing and accelerated past it. Russian drivers were kind of infamous, she was uninterested in finding out if Belarusian ones were similar. "She'd rotated them, so none of us kids would catch on. At least until we were old enough to be swearing on our own."

"Peggy could swear like nobody's business."

"My favorite were the creative English ones. I heard a lot of 'bloody Nora' when I was little." Her mother had gone back to grad school when Sharon was in grade school. She'd spent three afternoons a week at Aunt Peggy's, doing homework, eating cookies, and hearing war stories. "It was her exasperated surprise phrase."

"She attached 'bloody' to a lot of things. Particularly. . ." He trailed off. "Nope, you don't want to hear the rest of that."

She looked over at him. "Well _now_ I do."

"I thought we had rules about certain topics."

Because of the time she'd spent with Peggy, Sharon tended to think of her as more of a grandmother than a distant great-aunt. When she and Steve had first started swapping stories she'd made it pretty clear she did _not_ want specifics about her sexual habits. For the most part they stuck with that. But this was an uneventful drive and she was easily bored.

"Just narrow it down for me. Was it something she cried out? Reference to a body part?"

He cleared his throat. "I could tell how well I was doing by how many bloody's I got. It was nearly mathematical."

She laughed brightly. "I'm like that with the word 'fuck.'"

"Scandalized any boyfriends?"

"If a woman saying the word fuck _while fucking_ turns a guy off he doesn't last long enough to get to boyfriend." They passed a sign proclaiming Salihorsk was twenty kilometers away. She started edging towards the exit lanes.

"Some men like that. Quiet, shy women. So I've heard, anyway. Clearly, I do not."

"Clearly." It had not escaped her notice that, all things being equal, she was very much Steve's type. Well, being a brunette might help. But personality-wise she was dead on. She didn't know if Nate had ever picked up on that - he didn't exactly hang out with Steve - but it had only taken a few stories and a few evenings out at bars or coffee shops for her to notice.

"I have run into the odd guy who saw blonde and smiley former athlete and thought I'd be that type. I respect the ones who notice I'm not and wander off quietly. I have no patience for the ones who think they can 'tame' me." She turned her hands on the wheel to make proper air quotes.

"Trying to tame you sounds like it would be fun, though. Possibly fatal, but fun."

And then there was the other side of the problem. Steve was very, _very_ much her type.

"I have to respect you before you can tame me." She glanced over at him. "Like a cat."

"Challenge isn't worth doing unless it's really a challenge."

"Most strong women I know like strong men. Somebody's gotta win that battle of wills." She took the exit marked Salihorsk and was silent while she navigated merging and following signs. "Sometimes it's nice to let go. Sometimes it's nice to take turns."

"You and Nate work like that?"

Her sex life with Nate was generally off-limits, mainly because she figured it would annoy Nate to know Steve knew anything about it. But she was still kind of irritated at him and Steve wasn't exactly the type to rub it in the other man's face. "More or less. He doesn't mind talking or instructions but he's not exactly. . . His needs are pretty basic."

He looked at her for a moment, then said, "There's nothing wrong with simplicity." 

"No, I know. And he's not boring. I'm not unhappy. It's just. . ." She sighed and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. "If you're going to be dominant in bed then you have to want things, you know? Want to push your partner in some way. And if you're perfectly content with ten to twenty minutes of foreplay and then sex then there's nowhere to go. There's nothing to push."

Steve shrugged. "Maybe all relationships get in a routine after a while."

That was a good point. They were coming up on two years together in May. "Maybe I'll ask for a vibrator for our anniversary," she joked. "See if intrigues him."

"You don't own a vibrator?" came the incredulous reply.

She had to laugh at the horrified look on his face. "Of course I do. But I can always use more."

"I was worried about you there for a minute."

"I'm a well-rounded, modern girl, I promise."

Salihorsk was a fairly modern city, sort of a culture shock from what one might expect from an eastern European country. There were mid-level and high rise office buildings and apartments, none dating any earlier than the late fifties. They drove past a rather pretty stone church and a couple of quaint, smaller buildings and schools. But for the most part there was a sterile, utilitarian air to the place.

Sharon cruised through the center of town to the other side and back again, just to get a lay of the land and find the best place to set up shop. "The city was founded well after the war," she told Steve as they pulled into a motel lot. "Hydra's probably been here since the start."

"It does have that Soviet Cement Block vibe to it, doesn't it?"

"One could set some sort of gritty, symbolic horror film here quite easily." She squinted out the window. "The base is outside the city proper, in the woods. This whole country in mostly woods. Intel said it's non operational. We can do our own recon tonight or tomorrow, maybe poke around the city for word of any other new comers."

"Together or do we split up?" Steve asked. It made Sharon smile that he was deferring to her, as he was very much a take-charge kind of guy. Steve had tactical plans for going to the grocery store.

"Stick together for now. People are more likely to talk about something unusual if you are similarly unusual. 'Oh, I just served lunch to another pair of tourists.' That sort of thing."

They got out of the car, and Steve pulled their luggage out of the trunk, including the garment bag he used to carry his shield with some level of camouflage. Leaving it at home had been a non-starter. "One room or two?"

For a second her brain seized. One room was SOP, as they'd be seen together. A couple taking a drive through Europe - even through a non-tourist stop like this - was far more common then an unrelated man and woman traveling together. The goal in this sort of spy work was to be as normal and unworthy of comment as possible while being on alert for anything out of the ordinary.

But the idea of sharing a hotel room with him seemed like _such_ a bad one.

No. They were adults, this was a mission, unsanctioned but still a mission. Stick to best practices. "One," she said, hoping none of her internal debate showed in her voice. "Less suspicious."

He nodded, and then went into the little office to get their room. The woman behind the desk apologized because they only had rooms with two double beds. Something was going her way, at least.

It was a standard mid-level motel room; garish geometric patterns on the bed spreads, non-descript landscape paintings on the walls. Sharon tossed her bag on the bed farthest from the door and glanced out the window at their view of the back alley.

"Maybe the honeymoon suite has a better view," Steve commented.

"Barton would complain about sightlines." She tugged the curtain closed. "I worked in scheduling for a few months in academy. He was kind of notorious for his sightline complaints."

"He is very. . . particular, isn't he?"

"Completely easy-going in every other way. But God help you if he can't see the street from one corner to another."

"What was my quirk people at SHIELD complained about?"

That was a difficult one. There had been people who found him unapproachable, but that had been their heads, not him. Steve was polite to everyone who managed to string a conversation together, even if they spent it fanboying. "I wasn't really in the gossip circles when you were active." Which was true. Though she and Romanov had exchanged notes on occasion, both of them technically being on his detail. "There were a couple of comments about you being a show-off Mr. What's a Parachute Again?"

"Sometimes that was tactically advantageous," he protested.

She sat on the bed, then flopped down to stretch her back. "I concede that not having to deal with the chute is probably handy. I think it was your propensity for one-liners right before you jumped."

"That goes back to the war. Actually probably back to childhood. Say something witty before doing something dumb and dangerous."

"Like a Brooklyn redneck," she laughed. "Hey y'all, watch this."

"If you're going to risk your life, you should have witnesses."

"This is going to be an unpopular opinion, but I think that should be the title of your auto-biography."

Steve sat on the other bed. "I had asthma before the serum, and so I never really knew when my lungs would suddenly stop working. It could be anything—climbing the stairs, smoke from a factory, tripping and falling. Leaving my apartment every day was as dangerous as jumping without a parachute. But my only other option was to live life as an invalid, so. . " he shrugged.

She supposed coming to terms with ones own mortality at the same age you figured out what mortality was did change one's outlook on life. She turned her head to look at him. "That does explain why you were willing to let Erskine experiment on you."

"Well, that was about a lot of things. The war was just the most obvious example, but it had become apparent to me by then that nobody was ever going to take me seriously as man and not a little boy. Not even Bucky. Somehow I thought if I fought that would change."

Rolling to her side, she propped her head up on one hand. "Got a bit more than you bargained for, didn't you?"

"I got to fight, didn't I?" There was a world of grief and regret behind that simple sentence.

Heart breaking, she got up and moved to sit next to him on the bed, sliding an arm around him. "I'm sorry, Steve."

He put his arm around her and tucked her against his side. She could feel his fingers tangling in the ends of her hair. "The future's not so bad."

She had heard his little, well practiced schpeil "Food's better - we boiled everything - and the internet! So helpful." He gave it to fans that came up to him and the occasional media person that got through. It was a USO, Captain America answer and it always made her vaguely sad when she heard it because it was so obviously a defense mechanism. So she knew he meant something rather deeper than convenient Indian food and online shopping. And sitting this close to him, surrounded by his scent and tucked into his big warm body, it was hard not to get swept up in emotion.

Aiming for a light tone, she gave him a little squeeze. "I look forward to seeing the next thing that sets off your grumpy old man-dar."

"You know, Ben-gay is surprisingly good on sore muscles."

"I've been ignoring the Ben-gay stigma since basic, but nice try,"

He kissed the top of her head. "What do you say we try to scrounge up some dinner?"

"That sounds like an excellent plan, Cap."

*

They spent the morning gathering intel in town, before going out to the base in the afternoon. Tourists photographing the countryside seemed to be decent cover. Steve was really enjoying watching Sharon be good at her job.

The base was the same utilitarian, mid-century grey as the rest of the town. It was abandoned, with some windows broken out and the back door propped open. It looked to have been used by junkies and prostitutes for some privacy and Steve noticed Sharon kept her weapon at the ready as they walked through the first floor.

Other than the graffiti and debris, it looked like any other office building. A fact which seemed to make Sharon unreasonably annoyed.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"This doesn't feel right." She turned in a circle, scanning the desks and filing cabinets. "I think I was wrong about which base they were hitting."

"How can you tell?" He paused. "I trust your judgement. I'm just interested."

They were clearly alone, so she tucked her gun back in its holster and braced her fists on her hips. "The other places they hit had medical equipment. Lab stuff. They had clearly been places where the Asset had been housed or worked on. This is an office building, probably entirely administrative. He's got no ties to this, no reason to burn it." She looked at him. "I know you're worried he's doing this for the wrong reasons or maybe for no reason at all. But from where I sit it's reading like vengeance. He's telling them they'll never put him on ice again. This place doesn't send that message."

He looked around, then back at her. He wanted to believe Bucky was doing things for good reasons. But he could never quite trust if that was just his own wishful thinking. But Sharon didn't have a dog in that fight. "I trust your judgement," he repeated.

She nodded, still looking discouraged. He had the feeling she was beating herself up internally about her misjudgment. "Okay. Let's roll back into town, check out and head to the other one. It's outside Barysaw, drive's about two and a half, three hours."

An hour later, they were back on the highway. Sharon seemed to be feeling very lead-footed. "Bear in mind that while I will likely survive a fiery wreck, you will not."

She tossed him a grin. "Have you seen how the locals drive? I'm just fitting in."

"We'll get there," he said firmly. "You can't stress over small bits of time."

"I cost us a day." Her tone bordered on snapping, but she did slow down a bit.

"Sometimes an educated guess is the best you can do."

"My best generally isn't good enough." She glanced over at him. "I know you know what that's like."

"Doesn't make it any easier to swallow." Her jaw clenched, nerve twitching under the skin. For a moment he thought of Peggy in the back of a very different car, talking about doors being closed in her face. He knew enough of what Sharon dealt with the understand that, in the boys club of the CIA and government, not a lot of progress had been made. Hell, he'd even heard people say borderline sexist things to Maria Hill.

"I don't like being wrong," she said finally. "Wrong in my line of work costs time and lives. And I know my reasoning was sound and we had no better than a coin flip's chance anyway. But. . ." She sighed and shook her head. "I don't like the be wrong."

"I don't either," he told her. "Though it's probably held against you far worse than me."

Another sigh. "It's never said out right. But there's definitely a double standard. I get the sense that I have a certain amount of mistakes I'm allowed. Then I'll be shuffled off the the typing pool or something. If we had a typing pool."

"Everything a man does, except backwards and in heels."

"Damn right," she said with what looked like an honest smile. "Twice as good for half the praise."

"Well I think you're amazing," he said quietly, sincerely.

She turned the smile on him. "Thank you. I appreciate that."

"And from me you get the same amount of mistakes as anyone else."

He could see her visibly swallow and she gave a little nod, obviously touched. "Thank you," she repeated. "I'm still going to try not to use them up."

They got to Barysaw is good time, and went looking for a motel. They chose randomly, but apparently poorly. "We only have one room left," the clerk told them. "It has a queen bed."

Steve very carefully didn't look at her at the same time she very carefully wasn't looking at him. After a couple of beats she smiled brightly and said, "Well. I guess we'll just get cozy."

He smiled reflexively, and probably badly—spy he was not—and held his hand out for the key. The lady handed it over to him and they headed for the hallway that lead to the rooms. 

It was, indeed, a queen bed, that looked far smaller than any other queen bed he'd ever seen. Sharon eyed it with equally suspicion, but kept up a brave face. "I've had worse mission SNAFUs."

He cleared his throat. "It could be worse."

She arched a brow. "Twin bed?"

"I've slept two people to an army cot." Though, not with someone he shouldn't be spooning with. He tried and failed not to pictured doing that with her. Talk about an inappropriate train of thought.

"Anyone I know?" she asked with a grin, turning to rummage in her bags.

He grinned back, relaxing a little. "Indeed."

"She was littler than me. But that bed is bigger." She pulled out her toiletry bag and a fresh set of clothes. "I'm going to take a shower, but I want to thank you for not making me do the 'I'll sleep on the floor. No, no _I'll_ sleep on the floor' thing."

"We're adults, we can share a bed." It would be fine. It would.

"Of course we can." She gathered up her things. "I could go for some lunch once I'm out."

Lunch would be delicious and distracting. Would give him something else to think about. "Sounds good."

They got lunch at a cafe a few blocks from the motel, half full of locals catching a long lunch or taking advantage of the free wi fi. Sharon smelled fantastic after her shower, which he tried not to think of too hard. The food was good, simple and comforting. They got a table on one side where Sharon could scan the crowd. It reminded him oddly of Nat, who always needed a wall at her back in public.

"So can we check this place our during the day? Or should we wait for darkness?"

She sucked dressing off her thumb. "Daytime, if you think you can mange stealth. I'd rather keep our distance. If he - or whoever he's with - is as good as I think they are, they'll get spooked if they think someone else is poking around."

"I will be as stealthy as I can. But I am me."

She gave him an indulgent smile. "I know how you are. We'll stick to the woods, I can go in alone if needs be. Scoping some long term stake-out spots would be a good idea, too."

"I want to come, unless you think I'll be in the way."

"Two heads are better than one," she said and sounded like she meant it. "Never know what someone else will notice."

"Did you work with a partner at SHIELD?"

Pausing to sip her hot tea, she shook her head. "I had missions with other people, but I didn't have a regular partner, like Barton and Romanov. Never found anyone I clicked with."

"I like a team," he said. "Working alone doesn't play to my strengths."

She tilted her head. "I can see that. A leader's no good without backup. And you're very good at ferreting out people's strengths and using them most efficiently."

"The Avengers worked really, really well, despite the fact that we were a mostly completely accidental combination."

The bell over the door jangled and Sharon glanced over, watching one of the wi-fi users let herself out. "Well, I'm guessing Fury had some sort of big picture in his head. But I don't think he expected Thor."

"Fury evaluated and rejected a variety of 'gifted' people, none of which were really team players. He tells the tale like he had it all planned in advance. But honestly, it was dumb luck they found me two weeks before the Chitari attacked." He stirred his coffee aimlessly. "Sixteen days. That's the gap I had between Schmidt trying to take over the world with the Tesseract, and Loki doing the same."

Sharon looked back over at him, eyes soft. "From one war to another. Have you thought about a vacation? Can you ever turn your head off for a while?"

"I don't even know what I'd do on vacation."

"Read," she offered. "Draw. See places you've never been before. Get a tan?"

"Tanning is a reaction to skin damage from UV radiation," he replied. "I don't tan."

She stared a moment. "That's a _crime_."

"Nineteen-forties Steve agrees."

Her brows went up. "Did he have a tan?"

"No, he had Irish skin that burned, peeled, and returned to pasty white. But he _wanted_ a tan."

"Aww. I feel for him." She sipped the last of her tea. "The rest of it is probably still doable."

"Sounds lonely," he said. "The rest of it."

She didn't answer right away, poking at the remnants of her sandwich. "Yeah. I suppose a vacation alone isn't that appealing."

"You and Nate should go somewhere nice," he said. "When you get home. Get away from all this, go somewhere warm and peaceful, and figure yourselves out."

The idea obviously appealed to her. "Our anniversary is in May. A vacation sounds like a nice way to celebrate."

"Do it." He nudged her with his foot. "Captain's orders."

She gave a half assed salute. "Aye, aye, Cap."


	4. Chapter 4

The base, nestled in the forest a good five to ten minute hike from anything resembling a road. It was brick, factory looking, and while they didn't spot any of the heavy-duty cryo equipment they'd found in the other places, it did have a distinctly "lab" vibe to it. Sharon felt better about their chances here than she had about the previous one.

There was, of course, a chance that they were totally off base and Barnes and his partner had just been passing through Belarus on the way to somewhere else. She hadn't mentioned that particular fear to Steve. She was sure he could figure it out himself and if it was true they'd have no way of knowing or picking up the trail at this point.

Twilight came fast, especially in the woods, and they left quicker than she'd had liked. They could come back first thing in the morning and figure out stakeout spots. The woods were thick enough that there was no one spot that was more logical to come and go, but it made tracking or hearing anyone much easier. The Asset, near as she could tell from his files, had worked primarily in urban or isolated environments. If they were lucky, he wouldn't know how to handle the terrain here as well and would give them a chance to catch him.

They got takeout for dinner and ate in their room, having a rather professional discussion about the stakeout and useful information in Hydra's files. The single bed sat there like an elephant in the room.

Despite both knowing they needed to be up at dawn the next morning, they dawdled over food and clean up. The bed seemed huge and to be shrinking at the same time. She mentally chastised herself. They were adults. Sharing a bed did not have to be sexual. She was making too big a deal of this.

Finally she couldn't put it off any longer and girded her loins, heading to the bathroom to brush her teeth and change. When she emerged, he was waiting for his turn in the same t-shirt and pajama pants he'd worn last night. It was perfectly respectable. But damn if Steve Rogers didn't fill out a t-shirt better than anyone alive.

Buck up, Carter. Think of unsexy things.

Steve gave her a little nod on his way in and she pulled back the covers on the bed, settling on one side, as close to the edge as she could. She listened to the sounds of him brushing his teeth, and then he came out and got in on the other side. He lay there in silence for a few moments, and then he started to laugh.

For a moment, she looked at him in surprise. Then she started to laugh as well, shaking her head. "We are ridiculous," he said.

"We should build a pillow wall," she agreed. "Leave room for Jesus, as one of my middle school teachers used to say."

He rolled over to look at her. "After we had our tussle with Ultron in South Africa, we ended up hiding at Barton's farm. We spent the night before heading out—I am a fan of people getting some sleep before battle—and they didn't have enough beds. Natasha invited me to come share her room, as she has one in the house. Saved me from a night fighting for the blankets with Stark. We lay there in the darkness for about five minutes, and then she says, 'Rogers, you're practically on the nightstand. I promise not to murder you in your sleep if you accidentally poke me with your morning wood'."

Sharon laughed harder. "Oh, God." She swiped tears away. "Well, I extend the same offer. Though I am a serious blanket hog."

"That must be in your genetic code," he replied.

Peggy stories were safe and familiar and not likely to lead to sexy thoughts. She rolled to her side to face him. "Was she violent about it? I've told boyfriends to just take them back and apparently I snarl and fight them in my sleep."

"She kicked me in the shins once. Over a scratchy wool army blanket."

"Well, when it's all you have. . ."

"Told me I'm a furnace and I didn't need a blanket anyway."

"A furnace, huh? Maybe this won't be so bad." She stretched her legs out, wiggling her cold toes in the blankets.

"Yes. Though I hold out hope our relationship has not reached the point where you will shove your freezing feet under or between my legs at two in the morning."

"Well, not consciously."

"Natasha tried to hide behind that, too."

"I'm sure there's a scientific reason. Cold things drawn to hot things."

He folded the pillow under his head. "It gave me bad dreams."

Sharon's brows lifted. "Her cold feet?"

"Cold things on my skin." He shrugged, she saw one shoulder move. "I remember it, you know. Freezing."

That had never occurred to her, that he remembered the freezing. Though now that she thought of it, she had seen pictures from when he was being thawed and he had been laying flat. Obviously he'd gotten out of the pilot's seat at some point.

She rolled over and reached down into her bag. A moment of digging found a pair of fuzzy socks. Kicking the covers down, she lifted one foot, then the other, slipping them on.

In the darkness, she could still see him smile. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"I solve problems. It's what I do." She resettled, tucking her pillow under her head. "No cold feet in this bed."

"I didn't feel comfortable telling Natasha about that. I don't know if I've ever told anyone, actually."

That pained her a little, like a blow to the chest, but sharper. That was a lot of trust. They really didn't have a lot of limits left. "I will file it away with all the other valuable intel I have."

"Your tell-all book is going to be amazing."

"It's my retirement plan. Not even counting the movie rights."

"It always impressed me nobody wrote one. Not one of the Commandos. They kept a lot of secrets, some of which would have been very valuable."

There had been rumors and speculation and interviews, but no racy memoirs. When the Commandos spoke of Steve and their time with Captain America it was with complete respect. "I know they all kept in touch. Maybe since they had each other to tell stories to they didn't need to share them with the world. Or they knew the others would kick their ass."

"They were like my family. I didn't have much of one by blood. But I had them."

She imagined she felt the same about the Avengers, despite the fact they kept splintering and going their separate ways. She knew full well how alone he often felt. "You know Peggy went to the Stork club for your dance date? She told me about it. Thought it would give her closure, help her move on. Planned to have a gin and tonic, cry a bit and go on her way. But Howard Stark and the Commandos showed up, right on time. And they all took turns buying the rounds and telling stories about you."

He closed his eyes, and his voice was a little scratchy. "Yeah. They would."

Careful not to inadvertently poke him in the eye, she reached out and stroked his hair. "They were good people. They took care of your legacy as best they could."

"Will you take care of mine, too? After I'm gone?"

"With my last breath," she promised.

He lifted his hand and folded it over hers, bringing it down so they held hands in the space between them. "You know, I think the best thing about the future is you."

Her cheeks flushed and she was grateful for the darkness to hide her blush. "Really?"

His hand squeezed. "Really."

She didn't know what to say to that. Telling him he was the best thing in her life was probably true, but seemed wrong, especially with her fight with Nate still fresh. They were going to need to have a very long talk when she got home. And she wasn't entirely sure what she wanted the outcome to be.

"I'm glad," she said finally, squeezing his hand back. "I love being your friend."

"Even when I drag you to the ass end of the earth?"

"Even then." She smiled. "At least the company is good."

It was the last thing she remembered before falling asleep. They were still holding hands when she woke up.

*

There was something different between them as they walked down to the cafe in the grey dawn hush. It wasn't awkward or heavy, fortunately. Steve really didn't want to launch a multi-day stakeout under that kind of circumstances. But somewhere between their conversation last night and waking up tangled together something had shifted between them. Something they were probably going to need to sort out.

After sitting and ordering he excused himself to go to the bathroom, trying to formulate how to start that topic. Or even if he should start it or just let it go until they were back home. Maybe he should just leave it be for a few days and see if things went back to normal. They were far from home and emotions could run high, especially given what they were doing here. Maybe ignoring it was the better option.

Seventy years later, he still wasn't all that great talking to girls.

He couldn't dawdle in the bathroom any longer, so he went back out. There was a woman sitting in the booth with Sharon. He approached slowly, trying to catch her eye. Sharon noticed and gave a little nod, then jerked her head a little, seeming to indicate it was all right to approach.

The other woman looked a few years older than Sharon, with dark hair in a long braid. She was in all black and held herself like a soldier, like she was ready to fight or run at a moment's notice. It reminded him of the way Natasha sat when she wasn't sure of her situation. As he came closer she looked over at him and he saw she wore dark framed glasses and had a long, ugly scar down the left side of her face.

“Sharon?” he asked cautiously.

In a calm, quiet voice, she said, “She claims she’s been helping Barnes and knows where he is.”

He looked at the newcomer again. “Can you prove that?”

She met his gaze, eyes a light hazel behind the glasses, tawny brown with flecks of green. When she spoke she sounded entirely American, with the faintest hint of a Southern accent. “He said to tell you, it was the end of the line.”

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. That was Bucky. And he _remembered_.

He managed to get out, "Show me." She stood slowly and Sharon did likewise, tossing bills on the table to pay for the meal they'd ordered but wouldn't eat.

They followed the woman out to the street and she pointed to a beat up Jeep parked down the block. Sharon caught his arm. "We'll follow you. We know where the base is." The woman nodded and headed to her car while they headed back to the motel's parking lot.

"This is too easy, isn't it?" he asked Sharon quietly, once they were in the car.

"It stinks to high heaven," she confirmed. "She said she used to be with SHIELD and was held captive by Hydra. I don't recognize her, but that doesn't mean anything, and we don't have time to search her name in my files." She shook her head, following the red light's of the Jeep ahead of them. "If it's a trap, it's clumsy, which makes me think it's legit. But that's a spiral without an end."

"We did come here to find him. And I do think it's him."

"I know." She blew out a breath as they turned onto a rutted ATV path deeper into the woods. "Just. . . be on alert till we're sure."

"I trust you." And he did. More than he had anyone in a long time. So he added, "I'm glad you're with me."

She smiled and glanced over at him. "Me too."

They parked right in front of the building and the woman - he should have asked Sharon if she’d caught her name - lead them inside and down a set of hidden stairs they hadn't noticed on their earlier intel run.

Bucky was sitting at the far end of the basement, his metal arm caught in the metal clamps of some sort of machinery. The woman hurried to his side, the first sign of a crack in her calm and Bucky slid his other arm around her for a moment as she leaned into his side.

There was something rather. . . intimate about that gesture, but Steve didn't really have time to think about that now. He couldn't believe he'd actually found him. "Do you remember me?" he asked hesitantly.

For a couple of heartbeats, Bucky just looked at him. Then he said, hoarsely, “Your mother’s name was Sarah. You used to stuff news papers in your shoes.”

Sharon made a soft sound at his side, looking up at him. He found himself reaching briefly for her hand. He'd been such a jumble of emotions when he'd first seen Bucky again, back in DC. Shock and hope and fear. He'd just shoved it all down and kept it there while he did what needed to be done. Right now, he really needed to do the same. He needed to get Bucky out of that. . . thing.

It took all of them to wedge the clamps open and keep them open wide enough to wiggle Bucky's arm out. When he was free he and his partner poked at it a bit, trying to determine the level of damage.

"All right," Sharon said, obviously deciding she needed to take charge. "We need to call Hill and get a jet to pick up up in Minsk."

"We need to stop at our apartment and pick up our things," the woman - Amanda, Bucky had called her - said.

Sharon looked over at her. "Give us the address, we'll have someone go clear it out."

"Or, we'll just go now and settle things with the landlord and it'll be done. No need to terrorize her with strange men tossing our shit around.

Sharon's hands went to her hips, obviously not happy at being argued with. Steve took an instinctive step away from the two of them as they glared at each other. Almost involuntarily, he glanced over at Bucky.

To his surprise and amusement, Bucky returned the look, brows up, obviously in commiseration. He found himself smiling. They seemed to have similar taste in girls these days.

The ladies seemed to come to an agreement and things started moving rather quickly. They followed Bucky and Amanda to clean out their apartment before packing up their own motel room. Somewhere in there Sharon got ahold of someone back home that arranged for a jet to take them home to New York. Through it all he didn't have a chance to talk to Sharon or Bucky or even sort himself out in his own head.

It was fine. He could deal with it later. He could be Cap now. And Captain America didn't have distracting, messy emotions. Not about the man he'd once loved or the woman he seemed to be developing some serious feelings for. Cap just had a job to do. A mission.

The jet wasn't one of Stark's, but an older, military style one with no privacy, just a row of jump seats along each wall. Bucky and his woman stayed glued to each other's side, once they were in the air she slumped on his shoulders, dozing. Even if Steve had any idea what to say to him, that probably put an end to the opportunity.

Sharon sat next to Steve and curled her hand around his fingers, giving him a little squeeze. Eventually the silence became unbearable, and so he dredged up something to say. "Did you get your arm fixed before it got stuck?"

Bucky looked over at him, then at his arm. "As best we could, yeah, but it looks like the clamps did more damage." He nudged Amanda gently. "Did you grab the tools?"

She nodded, looking groggy, and leaned to rummage in her bags.

"How can I help?" Steve asked, very grateful there might be an actual task for him.

After inspecting the arm a moment, she waved him over. "Take these pliers and bend some of these plates back."

Carefully he worked the plates back into position, one at a time. It killed at least an hour of the flight. Amanda tinkered on it with a little electric tool, until Bucky could wiggle his fingers. He made a joke about crushing doorknobs and sounded almost like his old self - closer, at least, than he had in DC.

Then they retreated to their separate sides, and the awkwardness descended again.

*

After what had to be one of the longest flights of Sharon's life, they landed at Avengers Tower in New York. Sharon had visited Steve there a couple of times and knew the layout well enough to lead Amanda to the gym showers and wait with her until Maria Hill came to take over. She wanted to "debrief" the SHIELD doctor and Sharon wasn't really a part of that. Steve was in a room somewhere having a long overdue conversation with Barnes and she was likely superfluous.

She hovered in the hallway, fiddling with her phone and debating calling Nate to tell him she was back in the states and would be home soon. There was no reason not to. She was here, she should go home, sort out what needed to be sorted.

But she still wanted to talk to Steve. They had almost as much to talk about as she and Nate did. Barring anything else she was sure he needed someone to vent to about the events of the last few hours.

Hill and Amanda emerged first. Amanda went into the room with Steve and Bucky, and Hill came over to her. "I can take you up to Steve's apartment if you want."

Oh, _there_ was a terrible idea. "I'm not sure how long I'm staying," she hedged. "I should probably figure out when the next train south is. . ."

"You'll have to take the subway to Penn Station. FRIDAY can help you with schedules." 

The thought of the subway made her shoulders slump a bit. She was exhausted. "Maybe I will head up to his apartment for a while. A nap might make the subway seem palatable."

"He does have a very nice couch." She held out a an arm. "This way."

Sharon scooped up her duffle bag and followed her to the elevators and up to Steve's apartment. There, Hill left her alone. For a moment she flirted with the idea of crashing out on his bed, which was almost certainly bigger than the motel bed in Barysaw. Determined not to make the strangeness between them any worse, she went for the couch.

 It was remarkably comfortable and she gave into fatigue, curling up on her side and dozing off. She didn't know how long she slept, but it must have been a while, because it was fully dark, the city lit up beyond the windows, when she woke. Steve was standing at them, his back to her, staring off into the distance.

"Hey," she said softly, rubbing a hand over her eyes.

He turned, enough she could see his shadowed profile. "Bucky and Amanda went to bed."

She sat up slowly. "How did your talk with him go?"

"Not far above the level of chit-chat. Eventually he demanded I bring him Amanda, and then they shut themselves in the bedroom." He gestured at the door.

Hardly the warm reunion he'd hoped for, she was sure. She sighed softly and got up, going to stand beside him. "You found him. He's alive and he remembers you. It'll take time to get to know each other again. He's been through trauma."

"I know," he said. "I don't have any expectations. I figured it would take him a while to sort out being a person again, after being the Asset. It's just. . ."

"It hurts." She rubbed his back gently. "Expectations are different from hope."

"He doesn't need me. He already found someone to help him sort out the modern world."

"Oh, honey." She stepped closer. "He doesn't _know_ you. Not the you of 2015. You don't know what he might need you for. You just have to give it time."

"I guess I have plenty of that." He scrubbed his face with his hands. 

This was not reasonable and logical Steve. There would be no optimism tonight. Nudging him gently, she said, "You should sleep. It's late and it was a very long day."

"I thought about it. While you were napping. But I think I'd just lay there and stare at the ceiling. And. . . think."

"Okay." She was not that easily deterred. "Okay. Why don't you lie down while we talk. And we'll see what happens?"

His mouth quirked. "I must be tired, for a second that sounded like a proposition."

Her brain stuttered over a variety of inappropriate thoughts and images. "You question my motives?"

He sighed, and it was an oddly defeated sound. He looked exhausted, and sad. "Maybe just wishful thinking."

She swallowed hard, heart pounding in her ears. "Steve," she said softly.

"I'm sorry," he said, closing his eyes. She wanted to wrap her arms around him more than she'd ever wanted anything in her life. "I know. I shouldn't have—I'm sorry."

It was stupid. It was wrong. It was dangerous. But she reached up and touched his jaw, turning his face a little so she could go up on her toes and kiss him. She felt and heard him inhale sharply through his nose, and a shudder passed through him. Then he moved, arms coming around her and crushing her against his chest.

With him wrapped around her like this it was easy to forget the multitude of reasons they shouldn't be doing this. She tried to tell herself it was just a kiss. But it was far more than that. It was heat and want and desperation all tangled up in a lot of other things she didn't want to name.

It was over before she wanted it to be, but long after it should have been. He didn't say anything, just stared at her. She wondered if she looked as stunned as he did.

She licked her lips and and his eyes followed the motion. She took a careful step back and he let her go. "I'm sorry," she whispered, hoping he understood.

"No, I. . . I should apologize. It's just been a weird couple of days. We probably shouldn't. . ." He shook his head. "You can have the bed, I'll crash out here." She got the impression that was about the last thing he actually wanted.

She swallowed hard. "Maybe it's better if I just go," she said quietly.

"I don't want you to go," he replied, his voice not much more than a whisper.

She should really go. But she knew he wouldn't ask if it wasn't serious. If he wasn't hurting. "Okay. Okay, I can stay."

He reached and stroked the back of her hand with one fingertip, like he was afraid to touch her more than that. "Thank you."

Tomorrow they would talk, or maybe she'd just go and try not to acknowledge it. For now she could be his friend and support him as best she could.

Steve went to sit on the couch, leaving plenty of space for her. "I would never have found him without you."

Tucking herself into one corner, she watching him carefully. "I think in the end we were just in the right place at the right time."

"Because you put us there." He poked her with his foot. "Take a compliment, Carter."

She smiled. "All right. You're welcome."

He was quiet a moment, and rubbed his face with his hands. "Maybe I am tired. If I swear on Peggy's grave to keep my hands to myself, is that laying and talking offer still valid?"

Sharon wasn't entirely sure he was the one to worry about. But she was a big girl and could handle herself. "It is." She uncurled from the couch and stood. "I trust you."

It was a king bed, she was grateful to see. The mattress seemed to be memory foam of some sort, but was extremely firm. "There's a button on the headboard," Steve said. "Adjusts the softness."

She found it and fiddled with it, feeling the bed sink beneath her. "Used to hard mattresses, huh?"

"Soft beds were for rich people. The army only made it worse."

Nodding in understanding, she got it to the right softness and waited for him to settle. "You want to talk?"

"Is it possible this was a mistake?" he asked after a moment.

"You mean bringing him back here?"

"Bringing him here. Tracking him down in the first place." 

She was quiet a moment, giving the question the consideration it deserved. "I think if you hadn't you'd always have wondered. It would have been a regret big enough to eat at you and I don't think you need any more of those. So no, I don't think it was a mistake. However it shakes out, it's better to know."

"Our relationship has always been. . . complicated. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised it's only gotten more so."

She studied him a moment. She was probably the only living person who knew, with complete certainty, that Steve Rogers was bisexual. They had never gone into much detail, but enough she had a sense of what "complicated" meant. "Did you -" She paused and reconsidered. "You never told me exactly how it ended with you two."

"We had a dynamic that didn't survive the serum."

Yeah, if her significant other's body radically changed overnight it would probably put a damper on the relationship. "That must have stung a bit."

"It was never. . . real, I guess. It was the thirties. We'd mess around for a while, and then convince ourselves we needed to stop, and find women. Bucky would and I couldn't, which, which didn't help. Then I'd get into some bad fight, and he'd patch me up and it would just. . . happen." He smiled. "Peggy ever tell you the 'definition of sex' story?"

Her brows went up. "When she gave me the birds and bees talk she told me it was someone else giving you an orgasm while one or both of you were at least 60% naked. Which, looking back as an adult, was a remarkably broad view for a woman born in the twenties."

"She and I got into a discussion once about our differing opinions about whether we had or had not had sex. She was astonished I thought we hadn't, you know, considering." Sharon appreciated that he didn't elaborate, but she could guess just fine. "I very earnestly told her that it didn't count unless you could get pregnant. She demanded to know if Bucky had told me that."

Despite the serious tone of the conversation, Sharon burst out laughing at that. "Oh, my God."

"But I realized later that it probably was a side effect of how I rationalized Bucky and I. It wasn't sex. It was just messing around. It didn't count."

She shook her head as she calmed. "Do you know if he remembers? That part of it?"

"I didn't ask, but he seems to remember when we were young. Less so of the war. So I don't know." He shifted onto his side so he could see her better. "He used to take care of me. And then I didn't need it. And I looked completely different. We didn't discuss it, but I knew it was done."

Sharon wondered if remembering only part of his relationship with Steve was adding to Barnes's awkwardness. "The two of you are going to need to find out who you are to each other now. Find an equilibrium."

"Part of me fears that answer is 'nothing'."

"I don't think anybody can turn their back on the kind of love and friendship you guys had."

"Past tense is still past tense." He rolled back onto his back. "Things the future taught me."

She lifted a hand and stroked his hair. "If you've grown that far apart then you try to come to terms with that and move forward. Is that any worse than him being dead or a tool for Hydra?"

"I suppose." He sighed. "At least the searching and wondering is over. I'll be able to move on."

"Closure can be important," she said softly. "It'll work out in the end."

"You always manage to be optimistic when I can't," he told her.

She didn't consider herself particularly optimistic. "I just like to follow things to their most logical end. And most things in life, eventually, end up okay."

"Can be hard to see when you feel like the entire universe is poking you with a stick."

"I know. Why it helps to have someone else look at the problem."

She could see his eyes drifting closed, like maybe he might sleep. "S'why I have you," he murmured.

"I'm always happy to look on the bright side for you." He didn't reply, his breathing slowing, and his body relaxing. She kept stroking his hair until she was sure he'd fallen asleep. Then she carefully rolled to her side so her back was to him and closed her eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve woke in the morning to Sharon getting out of bed. He watched her try to tame her hair, and stare absently out at the skyline. He shouldn't have kissed her last night. She had someone, and she didn't need him screwing that up. But he couldn't quite bring himself to open his mouth and apologize again. Because while it shouldn't have happened, it felt better and more right than anything had in a long time.

When she had her hair more or less untangled she turned from the window and saw he was awake. She smiled softly and went to sit in the edge of the bed. "Hi."

"Good morning," he said. He offered her a smile even though he didn't feel any happier than last night. "How'd you sleep?"

"Pretty well." She studied him. "You?"

"Better than I expected when I laid down."

"See? Sharon knows best."

He reached out to squeeze her arm. "Thank you for staying."

"You're welcome." She covered his hand with hers. "I'd like to stay longer and help you deal with all of this. But I need to get back home."

"I know. You need to go patch up things with Nate. I've occupied you for long enough."

"Yeah." For a moment she looked very sad and he wondered if she'd change her mind. Then she seemed to straighten up a bit. "If there's anything I can do over the phone please don't hesitate."

"I'll call. I promise."

She nodded and touched his cheek, then leaned forward to kiss his cheek. "Take care of yourself."

"You too," he said. "Even if you don't feel like it."

She smiled and gave another firm nod. Then she stood and headed out to collect her things.

Sharon sent him a text the next day telling him she and Nate had had a long talk and patched things up. He itched to ask her if she'd told him she and Steve kissed, but it was none of his business. Though he did wonder if that was why she didn't call. Their trip to Belarus had changed something between them, something he didn't know how to articulate, but enough that he felt. . . jealous, he supposed. Even though she wasn't his.

He wanted her to be happy, and if Nate made her happy then he would be behind that. Even if he had to force himself. He'd be okay with it eventually. If only he could shake this awful sense of loss.

The sudden presence of two roommates, one who didn't know him but tried her hardest to be nice, and one who Steve had a growing sense wished he wasn't there, hadn't helped. Neither had the dark and the cold. He tried to stay as busy as possible. Sharon was was traveling for work, they mostly texted and emailed. He missed her voice.

"You need to get them out of your apartment." Steve heard plenty of Sam's voice, though.

"It's fine," he said, even though it was bullshit.

"You're living with your ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend. That's not healthy."

"It sounds worse when you put it like that."

Sam sighed. "Seriously, man. No matter what else is going on you will all like each other more when you're not sharing walls."

They were ostensibly eating lunch, but Steve wasn't doing more than picking at his sandwich. "I can't throw them out."

"Why not? Because it would require speaking to one or both of them?"

He studied his sandwich with great interest. "I speak to them every day."

"Uh-huh." Sam ate his french fries with extreme prejudice. "It's been weeks, Steve," he said in a more even tone. "You gotta do _something_."

"I don't think they have anywhere to go."

"There are no other beds in that skyscraper of Stark's?"

"There are the other apartments. Not everyone is here." He looked up at Sam. "I suppose it couldn't hurt to ask." 

To his credit, the other man made an effort not to look smug. "Sharing space with someone is hard. Getting to know someone again after life-changing events is hard. It'll be easier to do one when your stop doing the other."

"Sharon thinks we'll be able to be friends again. I don't know anymore."

"I haven't met the guy, and I may be biased in my interpretations. But at its core, you're dealing with the longest serving POW in the world. He must have flavors of PTSD we've never even heard of. And from what you've said of his day-to-day habits at least one of those flavors is depression." He sipped his soda. "You gotta give him a little time. Make friends with his girl, if you can. She'll be your best ally in figuring him out."

"Sharon told me that, too."

"She's a smart cookie." He poked at the ice in his soda with his straw, tipping one into his mouth. "How's she doing?"

"Busy with work and what's-his-name." That came out more bitter than Steve intended. He couldn't very well take it back, so he settled for taking a bit of his sandwich and not looking at Sam.

After a few moment of silence, Sam said, "So. Not sure I want to touch that new land mine."

"It's fine," he said, again mostly a lie. "It is what it is." That was a little better.

"So it is." A pause. "Something happen when you guys were in Europe?"

"More like something almost happened." He wondered if she'd be mad at him for telling Sam. 

His brows went up. "Oh, _really_?"

"It's not that exciting. We got stuck sharing a bed and ended up talking. And then we actually did it again when we got home. I keep telling myself it's all platonic, but I think that's a lie." He looked up. "But it's my lie, you know?"

"You don't think she's feeling the same?"

She had kissed him. But maybe that was just being caught up in the moment. Or sympathy or pity. "She has her own life, she has a boyfriend, she seems happy."

Sam looked skeptical. "I remember when you didn't have any social life at all. Not you seem to have too much."

"This isn't a social life. A social life is fun. So I'm told."

"You'll sort it out, man. Then it'll get fun."

"Yeah, maybe." Optimism wasn't his thing lately. He wrapped up the rest of his sandwich. "I should get back, I have a meeting with the builders at 2:30."

"Good luck. Take care of yourself, man."

"I'm trying," he said as they parted ways. Probably also a lie. But it was cold and windy and snowy, and this was the best he could do.

On the way back to the tower he called Natasha. She picked up on the second ring, sounding out of breath and he could hear kids yelling in the background. "Wanda and I took the kids sledding. Why did this seem like a good idea?"

"Because there's a big softie beneath your hardened Russian assassin exterior? Or maybe you were drunk?"

"I'm sure it was one of those. What's up? World ending?"

"Not yet. I was wondering if I could crash in your apartment in the Tower."

"Sure, no problem. Something wrong with yours? Ants? Moths? Recently assassinated directors of government agencies?"

He sighed. "I found Bucky."

There was a pause. "And this requires you to move out of your apartment because. . . "

"Because he and his girlfriend are living in mine and I'm getting tired of listening to their bed thump against the wall." Nat seemed to bring out a certain level of honesty in him.

This pause was longer. "Jesus, I go away for a couple of months and you start starring in a soap opera. Do I need to come back there and kick some a- butt for you?"

That wasn't even the half of it. "No. I seriously just want someplace to sleep."

She sounded skeptical, but said, "Well, you can use mine as long as you like. I wasn't intending on coming back till the upstate campus was running. But hey, if you need me call me, right?"

"I will," he told her. "Have fun with the baby."

"Yeah, sure. I'll remember that on my three am shift."

He found it adorable that she was apparently taking a night shift with Barton's baby. But then, she was a loyal and devoted friend. And they _had_ sort of named the kid after her.

His meeting was long and boring, the building gearing up for the structures that needed to be added after the ground thaw. He dodged two dinner invitations and ordered takeout instead and ate it in his office rather than go upstairs to his apartment. He thought about calling Sharon, but she'd been busy lately. He didn't want to bother her. Even if he really wanted to hear her voice.

He went up to his apartment late, hoping to miss any uncomfortable sounds from the other room. The next morning he went for his normal run, then went back to shower and grab breakfast. He needed to tell them he was going to stay at Nat's and probably pack some clothes up, but he could hear what sounded like a serious conversation going on in their room so he took a seat and flipped through a book he'd been reading.

Only a minute or two later Amanda stormed out of the bedroom, Bucky at her heels. It was pretty clear from their expressions he'd done something to piss her off. He started to say something but she turned on him and snapped, “Do _not_ play chicken with me, Barnes. I am not the coward in this room.”

Steve kept his eyes on his book as she slammed the door. He expected Bucky to disappear but instead he let out a rush of air and sat on the opposite end of the couch from him. He scrubbed a hand over his face and muttered, “This would be easier if alcohol worked on me.”

This. Whatever "this" was. The first thing that popped into Steve's head was that he had Asgrdian Mead. “I have some stuff Thor gave me from his realm. It works. . . very well.”

Bucky looked down at his lap, then said quietly, “What do you say to sharing a couple glasses and having a long overdue chat?” He glanced over at Steve cautiously.

Steve looked at him for a long moment. Well, at least it would be over soon. "I'll get the glasses."

Bucky followed him to the kitchen where Steve retrieved the mead and a couple of tumblers. Bucky sipped it, brows lifting, then nodded in approval. Then he took a deep breath and said, "I've been a shit to you and I'm sorry."

That was not what Steve expected him to say. He took a drink from his own glass. "It's been becoming obvious you don't want to be here. Why do you stay?"

"I do want to be here. It's not. . ." He sighed and took a deep swig, "I don't know who I am now. I remember who I was. I know what the asset did. For a while I tried to be both and now that I'm here. . . I don't fit."

"You don't have to be who you were," Steve told him. "You don't owe me anything."

"I know you lost everybody. I figured. . . I assumed you'd want me back. The way you remembered me." Bucky finally looked at him. "I remember before the war. What we were to each other. I'm a little fuzzy on what happened after. I know you were with Peggy."

This definitely did require drinking, so Steve took a long one. "What happened was. . . you were the only person alive who preferred the original Steve Rogers.

He seemed to understand, because he nodded. "I protected you. When you got into scrapes."

"And then suddenly I didn't need you anymore. I've recently understood how hard that must have been."

Bucky held out his glass and Steve poured him some more mead. "Sorting out my memories is confusing sometimes. I remember being kids and roommates. I remember the awful double dates and worrying about you every God-damned winter because you'd start coughing and I'd be sure this was the year your lungs couldn't take it. But the war and running with the commandos is like. . . a movie with scenes missing. I get the gist of it, but it's hard. I think the sense of not knowing where I stood with you lingered and influenced my decisions."

"We never talked about it. It was just. . . obvious it was over." Those were particularly painful memories Steve didn't much feel like dwelling on. "Then I took up with Peggy. We fought together. Then we both died a couple of days apart."

They sipped their mead in silence a moment. "Amanda thinks I'm depressed," Bucky said finally. "Which I guess I am. I feel useless and lost. Sometimes I think about just running away. Sometimes the idea of being on my own is terrifying. I have nightmares but I want to sleep all the time." He swallowed hard. "But you are in my bones. For a long time - before the rest of my memories came back - you were the only thing I was sure of. So I don't know what we are to each other. I guess there’s a couple things we _can't_ be to each other. But I would like to be something."

Steve felt a lump in his throat that it was hard to talk around. "We were pretty good friends, once upon a time."

Bucky gave him a hesitant, crooked smile. "I can probably figure out friend."

"Also, it's called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and they take it pretty seriously nowadays. There are people you can talk to. It helps."

He hesitated, then nodded. "I'd be willing to give that a try."

"Since we're being honest, and we're drinking. . . I'm not in any position to help you out of the hole you're in, mostly 'cause I can't seem to get out of mine. But I do know people."

"Well," he said quietly. "Maybe we can help each other out. We used to be pretty good at that."

"Okay, but I'm going to go stay in an apartment down the hall for a while. I think a little space would be good. And I sincerely can't listen to you fucking on the other side of the wall any more." He frowned at his glass, surprised that had actually come out of his mouth.

To his relief Bucky laughed a little. "God, I'm such an ass." He shook his head. "I don't want to kick you out of your place, but you're probably right about needing space."

"I'll go, Natasha isn't going to want you mucking around with her stuff. And you've always been an ass. I'm kind of glad it survived Hydra."

He grinned. "Speaking of asses, I do find yours nicer in this form. If that helps at all."

That made him laugh despite himself. "Happy to serve."

Bucky clinked his glass with his. "To asses and friendship." They both drank and then he gave Steve a familiar, canny look. "So. What happened with the blonde Carter?"

He sighed. "She has someone."

His brow quirked. "Better than you?"

Talking about this made his chest ache and his stomach knot. "Apparently." He looked over at him. "I probably took some of that out on you, and I'm sorry."

Lifting a shoulder, he said, "I'm sure I deserved it anyway. So you told her you were interested and she shut you down. Who is this guy and are there any abandoned building up to and including a mile from where he lives or works?"

"You're not going to kill him. He's a nice guy. He makes her happy. And I want her to be happy."

Bucky looked sympathetic and reached out to clap his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"I'll be all right." She wasn't the first person he'd loved who hadn't wanted him quite the same way. But he wasn't going to say that, lest it rattle this fragile camaraderie they seemed to be forming.

"If I can't kill anyone to fix this, would getting drunk together help?"

"It's worth a shot. We do seem to be on our way already."

"Well then." He clinked his glass again. "Cheers."

*

Sharon was exhausted.

Work was hectic, her family inexplicably needy, and her social life surprisingly complicated.

She'd spent the weeks since Belarus being on her best behavior with Nate. She was available when he wanted to get together, attending lectures and parties and mingling with his coworkers. Most of them were perfectly pleasant people, though a few had a vague superiority about her not being "in academia." Still, she was a spy, she could smile and schmooze with the best of them.

They didn't talk about Steve or their fight before her trip to Belarus, which was probably for the best. She didn't want to have to confess about the kiss or sharing a bed with Steve. It was better to let it die down a bit, and keep Steve in the same text and touch base box as her other friends.

That, of course, was before the voicemail.

She'd been in a meeting when her phone rang and hadn't been able to check it for a couple hours. When she saw it was Steve that had called her she'd felt a twinge of panic and immediately ducked into an empty meeting room to listen to it.

"Hi," he said. His voice sounded odd. "Bucky told me to call you. And then not to call you, and then to call you again. So, two out of three. Not bad Vegas odds." He chuckled. Was he drunk? She didn't think he could get drunk. "We made up. Well, we talked. About the stuff, and the other stuff, and I'm going to stay in Nat's apartment, but that's okay. It's good. They have a lot of sex. Bucky and Amanda, I mean. Not Nat. Though maybe she is having sex with someone, you'd never know with her. I used to think maybe she was with Barton. Stark though she was with me. Which I found weird. Though, you know, I do like spies. I like you."

Dear God. Steve Rogers had drunk-dialed her.

"Where was I going with this?" the voicemail asked. "Right, you. Us. Not that there's an us. There isn't. I know. But I just. . . I miss you. And you're gone. And I wish. . . " He sighed. "We can pretend it never happened. That's okay. Bucky promised me he wouldn't try and shoot Nate. I want you to be happy. But I just really miss you." There was a long moment of silence, then he ended with, "Okay. Have a nice day." The beep sounded that the message was over.

She stared at the phone a long, long time. Steve Rogers had drunk-dialed her. She wasn't really sure what to do with this information. He missed her. She missed him, too. She would like to see him, sit down and talk about Bucky and work and anything else on their minds.

This couldn't go on. Nate needed to accept that she and Steve were friends and always would be. And if he couldn't handle that, then they had a problem.

She waited until she was done with work, figuring he'd be sobered up or passed out, to text him. _I miss you, too. I'm glad things are going better with Bucky. I'll try to make a trip up to the City to see you soon._ She paused and added, _How exactly does Captain America get drunk?_

The response came two hours later. _Oh God, did I really call you? I'm sorry. I was hoping I imagined that._

_You really did. I still have the message, if you want me to save it for you._

_Asgardian Mead is evil._

She laughed, pausing the show she was watching to pay attention to this. _Are you hung over?_

_I am. It's unpleasant. I have no idea how Stark does this._

Oh, she should call him. Just to be loud. _Asprin, OJ, coffee._

_Leaping off the building?_

_Greasy breakfast meats are also good._

_That I can get behind._

She shifted, resettling on her couch. _So you and Bucky had a good talk?_

_We did. It got pretty rough for a while, but I think things are going to get better now._

_I'm glad._ And she was. She'd been worried about him up there, in an awful situation and her helpless to do anything about it. _I have plans this weekend, but I want to come up next weekend._ Nate could suck it.

The reply took so long she started to worry. Then, _Sounds like fun._

He was hungover, she was not going to read too much into the pause. Of course, now she wasn't really sure what to say next. _I'll talk to you later. Have fun sleeping it off._

_G'night, Sharon._

_Night, Steve._


	6. Chapter 6

Sharon's weekend plans were a Valentines date with Nate. She considered it sort of a do over for New Years. They were going to a fancy prix fix dinner and then a show at the Kennedy Center. She left work early to get her nails done and get dressed before meeting him at the restaurant.

Nate was waiting for her in the lobby of the restaurant. He looked nice in a suit, and she thought he ought to dress up more. They didn't do things like this very often.

He smiled when he saw her and bent to meet her kiss as she reached him. "You look fantastic," he said, gaze roaming her.

"Thank you. So do you. Were you waiting long?"

"Just a minute or two." He nodded to the hostess and she gathered up two menus and lead them through the maze of tables in the crowded restaurant. They had a nice table, lit by a candle and covered in white linens. They got a bottle of wine and ordered probably too much food, but it all looked delicious.

They talked about work and a new book she was reading and a lecture he wanted to attend next month. When they were halfway done with their entrees she said, "So our anniversary is coming up."

Nate glanced up from his meal. "In three months."

There was an odd dismissiveness to his tone that rankled her, but she pressed on. "Yes. But I thought maybe we could take a vacation together, to celebrate."

He cleared his throat. "A vacation?"

"Yeah. May is a great time for it. Before peak season, but still warm enough to have fun. And it's our second anniversary, we should do something."

He looked down at his plate, suddenly very interested in his food. "I'm going to be pretty busy at work."

She set her fork down, instincts on alert. "Just a weekend, then. We could go somewhere close."

"It's just, you know, finals, lot of papers to grade. It's a busy time of year," he went on like she hadn't spoken.

"Nate," she said almost sharply. "What's wrong?"

He looked up at her, then quickly back at his plate again. "There's something I should tell you."

She stared at him a moment, then reached out and took a drink of her wine. She had a feeling she was going to need it. "What is it?"

"I went to the party on New Years. After you left to go run off with Captain America. I. . . I thought we were breaking up."

She had a pretty good idea where this was going to go, but she still said, "And?"

"And I. . . met a woman. And went home with her." He looked at her finally. "I thought we were over. I assumed you were doing the same."

Idly, she wondered how long he'd have kept this to himself if she hadn't brought up the anniversary vacation. "When I got back and we talked. . . you didn't think that was time to tell me this?"

He spread his hands. "When you came and said you wanted to work it out and there was nothing between you I thought we'd just start over again. And it's been great, really. But you started talking about our anniversary and I just couldn't deal with the guilt any longer."

Somewhere underneath the hurt and betrayal was anger at how hard she had tried for _weeks_ to make it up to him, to be the perfect girlfriend that he wanted. To be worthy of him despite the kiss and her lingering attraction to Steve.

And under that, rather depressingly, was relief.

She swallowed hard. "There's no fixing us, is there?"

Sharon wasn't sure there was a good or right answer, but she knew it wasn't what came out of his mouth. "I don't know. Maybe. Do you have anything you want to tell me?"

For a moment she debated with herself. If she told him about the kiss he would use it to vindicate cheating on her. Because fucking a woman at a party was the same as kissing her friend. And that would be the rest of her life. Her friendship with Steve being held at a different standard than anything else.

She picked up her purse and dug out some cash. "I'll send you anything you've left at my place," she told him, putting the cash on the table.

He gave her a hard stare a moment, then began fumbling with his phone. "Hang on, hang on."

She paused in gathering up her wrap. "What?"

"Oh, here it is. 9:05."

Sharon blinked in confusion, and repeated, "What?"

"The next train to New York," Nate said, a bite to his voice. "If you run for the metro, you can fucking him by midnight."

Anger blacked out her vision for a moment. Then she got to her feet. "Meanwhile, you just need to go home and fuck yourself." Not letting him answer, she turned on her heel, storming out of the restaurant, ignoring the stares.

The worst part of it, the absolute worst, was that she wanted nothing in the world more than to get on that train. And it was the last thing she was going to do. And not just because it would make Nate right. Steve was not her rebound, her consolation prize. It wasn't fair to him. Or her. Or their relationship.

She'd keep her plans to go up on the weekend. For now, it was pajamas and ice cream time.

*

"Is this a bad idea?" Steve was having breakfast with Bucky and Amanda, Friday morning before Sharon came up from DC. "Maybe I should cancel."

"Do you want to try to be friends with her?" Bucky asked. 

"It's the only option I have." Losing her entirely was not something he was ready to contemplate.

"Then you should probably try to make it through this weekend." 

"I would take a cancellation of a planned weekend visit a pretty big brush off," Amanda offered.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "No, you're right. I'm not usually a coward. I'm sure it will be fine."

Bucky reached over to pat his arm. "You can do this."

"I have punched Adolf Hitler over 200 times."

"Exactly! This'll be a piece of cake,"

He went to Penn Station in his incognito wear that evening to meet her train. He spotted her before she saw him. For a moment he was struck by how sad she looked. Then she scanned the crowd and saw him and smiled brilliantly. She ran the last few feet to throw herself at him. He caught her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. She fit against him so perfectly, and suddenly his vague idea that she shouldn't come seemed ridiculous. Sharon made everything better.

She sank her fingers into the hair at the back of his head. "It's so good to see you," she whispered into his neck.

He pressed his face into her shoulder and inhaled her scent. "I missed you," he told her.

With a deep, shuddery breath she said, "I missed you, too."

Steve lifted his head and looked down at her, tucking some stray hair back beneath her hat. "You okay?"

She scrubbed a hand over her face. "Nate and I broke up. On Valentine's Day," she added with a wry smile.

"Jesus. That's awful." The first thing that popped into his head came right out of his mouth. "Do you want Bucky to shoot him?"

She laughed and rested her forehead on his chest. "No. Thank you."

"I'm sorry, Sharon." It was really the only thing he could say. Because expressing happiness seemed rude. And he wasn't even sure he was happy about it. Obviously it hurt her, and anyway it didn't mean things between them would change.

"It's all right. It hadn't been great for a while and. . . well apparently when I was in Europe with you he assumed we were broken up and slept with someone else."

"And then never told you?"

She nudged him a little and her realized they were still in the middle of Penn Station. So he grabbed her bag and headed for the exits. Sharon wove her arm through his. "Apparently he figured he'd just pretend it didn't happen - since I was so willing to make up with him. But then when I tried to make plans for our anniversary he balked and the guilt got to him."

"What a jackass." They went outside to catch a cab because he didn't feel like risking someone recognizing him with the proximity and time to stare provided by the subway. "I'm sorry, but that's just. . ." He shook his head. looking down at her. "I guess you don't need me to be outraged on your behalf, do you?"

"No, yeah, I'm pretty pissed. I mailed him back his stuff, don't really expect to see mine." She shrugged. "I've gone through a couple boxes of tissues and a couple pints of ice cream. At least it's a clean break. That's easier."

He wanted to ask her if any of it had been about him, about them, but then maybe he didn't want to know. Maybe he didn't want to open that can of worms. "Okay," he said. "Do you want to spend more time with ice cream this weekend? Or do you want to get out and do something? I can accommodate either."

She looked thoughtful a moment. "I think I'd like to do some stuff. Get my mind off of it." Smiling, she added, "I've been looking forward to this weekend."

"Good," he told her. "Me too."

Natasha had okayed him offering her guest room to Sharon - he'd paid for it in teasing - so they headed back to the Tower to drop her bag off and go get dinner.

"So, you're clearly having a shitty week," he told her over a plate a of tikka masala. "So you get to pick the activities. See the new exhibits at the Met, get broadway tickets, go ice-skating, whatever."

Tearing naan into little pieces she seemed to think it over. "Is all of the above an option?"

"I can make that happen. Any other requests? If I can use my fame to get you access to something that would cause Nate envy, I can also accommodate that. Stark can open any doors I can't."

An odd expression crossed her face. "I'll think about it. But I'm happy with a show and some museum prowling. I'm a girl of simple pleasures."

"We can go see anything except the revival of South Pacific."

She laughed. "Too close to home?"

"Just a little bit. Though Amanda keeps telling Bucky and I we need to watch the Captain America musical, which there seems to be a movie of."

"I had that movie memorized when I was a kid," she said thoughtfully.

He mixed his leftover sauce and rice. "That's. . . frightening." He looked up. "I can't sing."

"Well, I won't ask for a live performance."

He dug out his phone to see what he could do about show tickets. Hill's assistant would know where to point him. "Fancy musical? Edgy play?" he asked Sharon. 

"Something light. I could use some laughter and a soundtrack to play over and over again."

He put his phone down and looked at her, poking absently at her food. "How about I stop asking you questions and just make things happen so you can relax and enjoy your weekend."

Putting her fork down, she gave a little smile. "I'm sorry. I'm not being very good company, am I?"

"I've leaned on you plenty of times before. You can lean on me for once." He poked her with his foot. "Let me show you a good time, and just don't think about everything for a few days."

The smile widened and she nodded. "That sounds perfect."

Steve felt instantly better. This was something he was good at. Planing, strategy, tactics. It would give him something to focus on. Something productive to do. And maybe he could keep making her smile.

They went back to the Tower and watched a movie from Stark's expansive library, then turned in early. He woke her the next morning with a cup of coffee and a detailed itinerary for the weekend. Grinning, she told him she trusted him and didn't even want to read it. So when she finished her coffee they went out to grab bagels on their way to the Met.

The day was spent wandering art museums, including a photography exhibit at MoMA, and his favorite painting at the Guggenheim. They wandered around Central Park a little, despite the snow. It was picturesque, and somehow cold didn't bother him as much when she was there.

She tucked herself against his side, wrapping her arms around one of his. "This was an excellent day," she told him.

"And we still have dinner and a show," he told her.

"I want at least two desserts. I'm not entirely done wallowing."

"I'm taking you somewhere famous for their gigantic deserts, so be careful." They left the park and started their walk back to the tower. "And yes, this was an excellent day. Something I didn't realize how much I needed."

She looked up at him. "How have you been doing? Things still good with Bucky?"

"Good. We're talking. Putting the pieces back together. He had some gaps in his memory that were a source of a lot of the awkwardness. He couldn't figure out what I wanted from him."

"Redefining relationships can be hard." She was quiet a moment. "It's good you talked, even if you had to get drunk to do it."

"We were both getting to kind of dark places. Amanda kind of prodded him into it, but I'm glad she did. I was starting to feel kind of resentful, and I wouldn't have wanted any of that to just fall out of my mouth one day."

Sharon took a deep breath. "I'm sure. . . what happened with us didn't help with all that."

He wasn't sure he wanted to get into that topic. . . but she had broached it. It hadn't even been about the kiss. They'd crossed some sort of emotional line, then, and he couldn't seem to get back over it. "I suppose not, no."

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"No," he said. "Don't apologize." He stopped and looked at her. "I could not have handled that without you. I'd have _never_ found him. If there was a little collateral damage, it was worth it." God knew grief was something Steve was well accustomed to.

"I just feel like. . ." She glanced away, at the cars passing them. "Like things are different between us. Maybe that's just my perception of it, I'm not in the best place right now. I just don't want to be a cause of pain for you."

Steve had never been a fan of lying, especially not about important things. So he couldn't say what he probably ought to, which was that it was fine and he was fine. Instead he said, "I find you worth it."

Her gaze flicked over his face. She looked a little sad, a little resigned. But after a moment she nodded and reached out to hug him. "I find you worth quite a lot as well."

"I think things are different," he said, holding her close and speaking mostly into her knit hat. "Does that have to be bad."

"I suppose it depends on what kind of different it is." Her voice was muffled in his coat. "But different can be good."

"You're still my favorite thing about the future," he told her.

Her arms tightened. "You're my favorite person."

He had the urge to ask her, if that was really true, why had she gone back to Nate. But he didn't want to ruin the moment, and he didn't want to say something that might hurt her. "Then we'll be all right."

She nodded and stepped back. "Come on. I want time to change before our night out."

*

Dinner was at a very nice restaurant near Broadway with admittedly huge desserts. Sharon made a respectable dent in her bread pudding. Steve offered her his arm as they walked to the theater and for a few unhealthy minutes she pretended this was a proper date. She was starting to think, based on their earlier conversation, that anything resembling dating was off the table. Which wasn't unexpected. She could handle that. But she could still pretend.

Her dark thoughts lasted until she read the marquee, which made her grin. " _1776_?"

"The soundtrack is very catchy," he told her. "It's fun. And they were super excited to give tickets to Captain America."

She laughed. "I was in this in high school."

"You were _in_ a production of _1776_?”

Still laughing, she nodded. "The director loved it and finally got a couple seniors that could handle Adams and Franklin. So she barreled ahead with it. Ended up having to cast women as some of the congress." She grinned up at him. "I was Hancock."

"Is this going to bore you since you've been through it 600 times?"

"Not at all. I loved it. Awesome memories." She bounced. "I'm excited now."

He grinned widely at her, clearly proud of himself. "Good."

Tucking her arms back through his, she walked into the theater with him. The seat were extremely good, in the center, just a few rows back from the stage. It had been a long time since she'd seen a proper Broadway musical. It really was an experience unto itself.

She and Steve shared an armrest, and the backs of their hands pressed together, and eventually their fingers tangled. It wasn't holding hands, not entirely. But she longed to turn her hand and do it properly.

It was nice though, being able to touch him with no guilt. She'd always been an affectionate person and had had to occasionally hold back with him, Nate in the back of her mind. Now, despite his ugly parting words, she'd given herself permission to touch Steve as much as he let her.

After intermission, he turned his hand to hold hers properly, and she leaned to put her head on his shoulder. It was dark in the theatre, nobody would see. She hummed along to "Molasses to Rum to Slaves" and the final reprise of "Yours, Yours, Yours" and he chuckled warmly at her and squeezed her fingers. Then it was over and they had to separate to applaud along with the rest of the audience.

He didn't take her hand again as they went up the aisle. He did, however, stop multiple times to greet people who recognized him. She saw enough cell phone cameras go off to wonder if there would be pictures of her labeled "Captain America's mystery date". She hoped not. They weren't ready for the nonsense that would follow once the internet figured out who she was.

So she hung back, trying to look like she was waiting for the line to move and not for him. Finally, they made their way out to the lobby, then the sidewalk. They walked away from the crowd, hoping to find a cab on a side street.

"The evening was even better than the day," she told him.

He put his hand on the small of her back, probably because the sidewalk was icy. "Good. It's been nice to see you smile."

She bumped his hip with hers. "You, too."

He leaned into the street to flag down a cab. "Home?" he asked. "Out for drinks?"

Drinks might end poorly. And he was currently very recognizable. "I'm fine with home and out of these heels."

He held the cab door for her, and then got in after her. In the darkness of the backseat, his hand found hers again. Nothing more, just that. It was simple and gentle and chaste and so. . . him. She wove her fingers into his and glanced at him as the cab pulled out into traffic.


	7. Chapter 7

The cab dropped them off at the tower, and they rode in the elevator up to the Avengers' floor. Steve tucked her arm into his elbow. "Good day?" he asked.

"Very good day," she told him. "Best in a very long time."

He held his palm out to open his door. "Then I have done my job."

The lights came on automatically as they entered. Sharon beelined for the couch to kick off her heels. "Are you going to try to top yourself tomorrow?"

"I was thinking more of a brunch-and-Sunday-paper sort of thing. I do only have half a day."

Oh, she really didn't want to go home. To her empty apartment and lonely nights. "Brunch can be awesome in its own right."

He grinned at her. "Challenge accepted."

She grinned back, shifting to stretch her legs on the couch, stockinged feet against his thigh. "You should visit me in DC sometime."

He reached down to rub her ankle absently, but she was intensely aware of the touch. "We could go visit my display at the Smithsonian."

"I'm told the documentary film is very educational."

"It depresses me every time I see it."

She tilted her head. "Any particular reason?"

His hand stilled and he looked away. "It's a ten minute retrospective on everything I lost."

Nice one, Sharon. She rubbed her toes against his leg. "I'm sorry, Steve. That was a stupid thing to ask."

"It's all right. It's probably usually fine." He looked back at her. "I think I've been more raw than usual lately. Bucky and all."

"Makes sense. I'm sure it brings a lot back. Good and bad."

"I was nervous about this weekend," he told her. "But I'm really glad you came up. I had fun and I needed that."

"I swear, thinking about this weekend was the only thing that got me through the week." She paused and figured honesty was always better. "I really don't want to leave tomorrow."

He watched her a moment. "I expect we'll be seeing more of each other now." Without Nate. He didn't say it, but it was there. "We shouldn't just float in unspoken limbo."

She cleared her throat. "Talking about it would be the adult thing to do."

Steve rubbed her ankle again. "But you'd like to do something else?"

Honesty. "Making out on the couch occurred to me."

He inhaled slowly, not taking his eyes off her. "Yeah. Me too."

She propped her elbow on the back of the couch and rested her head on her fist. "Which way are you leaning?"

"I think I'd like to kiss you once, without any guilt or expectations, and then we can talk."

Heat flushed her skin an she swallowed hard. Then she nodded. "Sounds like a good place to start." He crawled towards her, and she moved closer to him, so they could meet in the middle. This kiss was nothing short of fireworks.

His arms wrapped around her, tugging her close, and she sank a hand into his hair, tipping her face up into his. She'd thought the one last month, after Belarus, was intense. This left that in the dust.

When she finally lifted her head, somehow she was in his lap. He reached up a hand to cup her cheek and rub his thumb over her lower lip. "I wish I could just forget everything. Just pick you up and carry you back to bed."

"So do I," she said softly. "But I thinks there's too much to just ignore."

He took a deep breath. "Right now, I really need to. . . not be somebody else's second choice."

Which was exactly why she hadn't hopped that train to New York last week. "I understand. And I wouldn't want you to feel that way." She sighed and glanced away, into the middle distance a moment. "I don't want to jump right into another relationship. I was with . . . _him_ for almost two years. I think, much as I hate it, being unattached for a while will be good. To sort myself out."

"I'm going back and forth a lot lately. With the the HQ upstate under construction, and trying to build a team."

"It would be hard to start a new relationship now. Even under the best of circumstances."

He sighed, even though she knew he'd come to the same conclusion. "Maybe someday."

"Yes," she said, feeling like a liar as she said it. "Someday."

"I just don't want it to be like it's been lately. I miss you. I miss talking to you. You get me out of my head."

"I miss you too." She slid a hand down to curl her fingers around his hand. "I like being able to hang out with you and talk to you without. . . an oppressive sense of guilt."

"I'm sorry for how things went. I honestly am." He squeezed her hand. "I want you to be happy."

"Tonight? I was really happy."

He grinned, the kind that made her want to kiss him again. "Tomorrow I will attempt to repeat the feat."

"Then for now, that's good enough for me."

He studied her. "You think we could keep our hands off each other?"

"I think we can probably keep ourselves from having sex," she said after a moment's thought. "I don't see any reason we can't hold hands and lean on each other like we have been."

"I just. . . I liked sleeping next to you. Honestly, I slept better than I ever have alone."

That was not the request she'd expected. She sorted it out in her own head, then nodded. "I'm all right with that."

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Come on, then."

After a detour to the guest room to change into pjs, she met him in his room to find him already under the covers. She slipped in next to him, and chuckled. "Romanov doesn't share your firm bed preference."

"They're all adjustable. This side is plenty board-like." She didn't know if hers was as Romanov had left it, or if he'd deliberately adjusted it for her. She wasn't sure she wanted to ask. 

She curled on her side to face him. "Do you generally sleep poorly?"

"More than I'd like to admit. I blame a lot of things—noisy neighbors, too much caffeine, those idiots on the floor below us in DC, jet lag, Bucky and Amanda having sex, this bed not being my bed. . . but I think mostly likely it's just me and my demons."

"Nightmares?"

"You know, I don't really remember. I assume so, as I wake up feeling unsettled. But they vanish."

"I never remember by dreams either. I used to wonder if I even had any, but i suppose everyone must."

He reached under the covers to take her hand. "Thank you."

Instinctively, she wove their fingers together. "It's all right. Truth be told you're an excellent bed partner."

"The serum made me not snore anymore."

She chuckled. "That helps."

He was quiet for a bit, then said, "I've been at loose ends lately."

"Everyone feels lost sometimes," she offered. "You have more reason than most."

"Finding Bucky gave me something to do. Something to focus on. Now I'm trying to plow that into rebuilding the Avengers. Doesn't quite feel the same."

"I imagine it's frustrating. Starting over. I wouldn't have any motivation."

"The first thing Ultron said to me was to tell me that I couldn't live without war. Then Wanda got in my head and showed me pretty much the same thing. I don't want it to be true. But sometimes it feels easier just to give in."

She squeezed his hand. "You can choose to do something else. Grow a beard and become a street artist."

"That sounds like fun. I hate shaving. Would you pose for me? Throw some money in my mug?"

"Absolutely. I've always wanted a portrait."

"Now you tell me." He poked her with his foot. "Maybe I'll make you one."

Grinning, she played footsie with him a moment. "I can sit very still. For posing."

"I don't need you to," he said. "I could do it from memory."

 She could feel herself blushing. "You have a very good memory."

"Done deal," he said. "I'll send it to you in DC. In honor of whatever we might be someday."

"It will have a place of honor on my wall."

*

Steve felt better when he woke up Sunday morning than he had in quite a while. He really did sleep better next to her. He made coffee and orange juice and pancakes, and they sat around in their pajamas reading the Sunday paper. Stark mocked him for having an actual newsprint paper delivered, but Steve didn't care. Not everything should be read on a screen.

Sharon had claimed the comics and entertainment section and was leaning back in her chair, feet braced on his, sipping her coffee. It was the kind of quiet, cozy morning he could get used to.

"We should do this more often," he told her.

She glanced up from her paper. "I do find myself with some free weekends coming up."

"If you're going to figure yourself out, you shouldn't spend all of them with me."

"You make a good point," she conceded. "But some of them would be ok."

And so commenced the next phase in their relationship. It was a little odd—both aggressively platonic, and yet unable to shake the vague sense that it really wasn't. It felt a bit like Steve imagined old fashioned courtship would be like. Very chaste, but very charged. He'd go visit her in DC and sleep on her couch. They'd go do silly tourist things, and when they held hands on the metro, sometimes he felt like he'd come out of his skin.

In March she called about arranging their next visit around St. Patrick's day and he felt awful having to say no. "They want me upstate to check out the compound progress. It's supposed to be almost done."

"Oh." She didn't bother to hide her disappointment. "Will they have housing up there for you?"

"They will when everything's completed, but they're still putting in finishes on the housing. So I've been promised a trailer. Apparently there are a couple of them up there. Hill says they're 'nicer than you'd think'."

"I hear they make very nice trailers," Sharon said diplomatically.

"It's only for a couple of days. But it's too bad. We could have gone to the parade together. Since I am actually Irish."

"I am also Irish, at least partially. Well, it is what it is. Maybe we can have Easter together."

"I'll put it on the calendar."

The compound was progressing nicely, now that the ground had thawed. It was a giant mess of mud. Thursday afternoon, he texted Sharon a picture of his coated boots and filthy pant legs. _They also insisted I wear a hard hat. OSHA rules. Someone found a blue one and painted my A on it._

_That person is hilarious._ she replied. _Everything looking ship-shape?_

_So far, so good. I think we're on track._ One of the things that he liked about Sharon was that she didn't ask for a picture of his customized hard hat. He'd even volunteered to hold his shield over his head, but there had been rules. Steve hated inflexible rules. 

He did, however, send her pictures of his hideous wood-paneled trailer. He had no idea what Hill was smoking, because it was not nicer than he thought. He should have just stayed at a motel in town. But he was trying to be a good sport about it. _The furnishings seem new. Just very cheap. I'm glad I didn't bring Bucky. Particleboard makes him angry._

_We all have our pet peeves. I don't like granite countertops. Or cobble stones._

_I'm with you on cobblestones. What's wrong with granite?_

_It's hard to clean. I'm sure they have very nice ones that are super-sealed or whatnot. But I had granite counters in my first town home and they never felt clean._

He absolutely could not resist his reply. _Apartment I grew up in didn't have counters._

_Uphill! Both ways!_

_In the snow, too._ Speaking of, he really needed to get the heater in his stupid trailer working. Apparently the temperature was a front coming in and the temperature was dropping overnight.

_You have the best grumpy old man stories._

_Get off my lawn._

That got only a emoticon with a tongue sticking out, which admittedly made him smile. They made small talk for a little while longer before she had to run and do something and he settled in for the night. When he woke up there was more snow on the ground and certain ominous sense to the air.

The cold got into his bones, and he longed to just pack up and drive south before the weather got worse. But he was going to have to live up here, so he needed to get used to it. He had meetings until three, and then there was some local evening event he'd been roped into attending. According to the radio, the worst of the storm would be over by midnight and he could drive home in the morning.

He tried to text Sharon a couple of times between meetings but got no reply. He tried to remember if she had mentioned having a lot of work today, but couldn't. It was fine. It wasn't her job to babysit him. He'd just knuckle down and get on with his day and then it would be done with.

He put on his USO face for the reception he'd been invited to, and the weather was so bad by the time he got done with it that he was grateful he wasn't driving. Jason, the site foreman, dropped him off by his trailer. It was dark and the wind was driving snow around as he hiked across to the trailer. There was something particular about the storm and having cold, wet legs—his toes were a bit numb—that made him feel like he was going to have a panic attack if he stopped moving. The trailer was right there, and it had heat. He was not going to freeze.

Once he was in the trailer he cranked the electric heater up as high as he could and he sat at the table to take off his boots and socks, sticking his cold feet in front of the heat register. There, that was better. The small trailer would heat up quick and there were a couple spare blankets in the closet.

It took him a moment to realize the banging on the door was someone knocking and not the wind. He really, really hoped it wasn't Jason. He was not in the mood for company. With a heavy sigh, he stood up and walked over, opening the door to the cold.

The person on the other side was not Jason. For a moment he didn't recognize who it was. But then he noticed the blonde hair and recognized the purple and grey scarf wrapped around her nose.

Sharon's eyes crinkled in a smile. "Can I come in?"

"Yes! Of course," he stepped back to wave her inside. "What are you doing here?"

She stepped in and shook off snow, unwinding her scarf as he closed the door. "I saw the weather reports about this front coming in and thought you might get stuck up here. I know you don't like the cold and thought you might want company for the storm."

He didn't know if she really knew how much he hated the cold. Had he told her? It didn't matter. Somehow she'd known, and she was here. She was halfway through taking her coat off, but he reached out and wrapped his arms around her anyway.

After a little squeak of surprise, she wiggled her second arm out of the coat to hug him back. "Hey," she said softly.

"Hi," he mumbled into her neck. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome. You okay?"

"I'm better now," he replied, still not letting her go.

She rubbed his back and leaned into him, apparently content to let him hug her. Her hair was damp from melting snow and he was sure her feet and legs were as cold as his had been. But for the moment he couldn't bring himself to move any farther into the room.

Finally he straightened, feeling a little embarrassed. "You should—here, there's sort of a couch thing, have a seat. You want some tea?"

"Tea would be great," she said, slipping past him to take a seat. "You mind if I take my boots off? They weren't a match for the drifts out there."

"Of course. I assume you're staying the night?" That was a stupid question. She didn't come up here for dinner. “Never mind. Have you eaten. There seems to canned soup and something labeled 'Instant Lunch' that gave me pause, but turned out to be delicious." 

She chuckled a little. "Instant Lunch would be great." She peeled off her boots and wet socks and stretched her toes out the way he had. Her toenails were painted bright purple.

He boiled water for tea and their noodles. "Sorry for the accommodations." He waved a hand at the trailer.

"I called around but the motels were full. So it's this or camping in the car." She grinned at him. "This is probably better."

He set up the meal as best he could at the very tiny table. "We do at least have heat and a mostly-working shower in here." And one lumpy queen bed, but they could discuss that later.

They sat at the little table and slurped their noodles and tea. He told her about some of the meetings he'd been to and griped a bit about the event he'd been roped into. She had some entertaining stories about the other passengers on her flight up. They'd hit rough weather and picking out who was afraid of flying had been extremely easy.

"You didn't have to do this," he said quietly. "But I've never been so happy to see someone in my life."

Lifting a shoulder, she said, "Well, I figured if you were willing to admit cold feet gave you nightmares it meant you were really, really, _really_ uncomfortable with cold. And thought I'd try to help."

"It just must have been a lot of hassle and expense."

She looked awkward a moment. "Well," she said again. "I want you to be happy."

"I just mean. . ." Now he was feeling awkward. He didn't want that. He wanted to tell her it meant the world to him. That it wasn't an act of friendship. But for the life of him couldn't figure out how to start that conversation.

The wind rattled the trailer, and he flinched.

She reached across the table and touched his hand. "It's all right."

"I'm sorry," he said. "This is ridiculous. It's just a storm." But he found himself holding her hand rather tightly. He felt better, for a moment, and then the lights went out.


	8. Chapter 8

They both glanced up, as if there would be something to see that was the cause of it. Steve's eyes were better than most in the dark but there was no moonlight and the trailer was near pitch black. Now Sharon was gripping his hand rather tightly.

He stood up. There had to be flashlights or lanterns somewhere. But it was dark and the wind was rattling this metal tube and whistling in the cheap windows. It was cold, but something was burning somewhere. He couldn't feel it, but he could smell it. Burning fuel, melting the ice. They were sinking and water was rushing in and he was going to die here, slowly, where no one would ever find him.

"Steve." Sharon said it calmly but with enough force in her voice to get his attention. "You're here with me. We're in a trailer in New York. There's a snowstorm, but it's going to pass by morning." He heard her stand, but she didn't let go of his hand. There was a clatter, she must have been opening drawers or cupboards. Because when she came in she'd done a visual sweep of the room and memorized important spots.

A moment later a thin, yellow light of an ancient flashlight came on.

He tried to control his rapid breathing. Hyperventilating wouldn't help one bit. He locked his eyes on her face. "I'm okay," he managed to get out.

"Of course you are. We're going to turn around and go to the bedroom. It'll be warm there."

Steve nodded, embarrassed and grateful she was giving orders while he couldn't seem to pull himself together. "Extra blankets in the drawers under it," he told her. The heat was electric.

"Good." She ushered him into the bedroom and he sank on the lumpy mattress. She handed him the light and crouched, pulling the drawer out and pulled out four or five blankets, which she piled up on the bed with him. He crawled under the blankets and pulled her with him. He just wanted to hold her, as if maybe that would blot the awful flashback out of his thoughts. His hands were still shaking.

She curled up against him, sliding her arms around him and nuzzling under his chin. "We're okay."

He held her, forcing his breathing in tune with hers and focusing on the gentle hand rubbing his back. Slowly, slowly, he relaxed. It was warm here. It was safe.

As soon as the fear had fully passed, shame rushed in at full force. What the hell was that, anyway? "God," he whispered into her hair. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize," she said firmly. "It's fine."

He was horrified to feel tears sting his eyes. "Sharon. . ."

"Hey." He felt her shift to stroke his face. She rested her forehead on his. "Don't."

The words to make her understand didn't come, but he tried anyway. He was Captain America. Captain America was not afraid of snowstorms. "I don't get to have weaknesses," he whispered.

She still stroked his cheek. "Right here, with me, yes, you do. And besides, fear isn't weakness."

Maybe, if he let that sink in it would become true someday. He swallowed. "I don't know what I'd do without you." And he honestly _never_ wanted to find out. 

“Well, then. I guess we're stuck with each other. Because I don't know what I'd do without you, either."

"That sounds perfect to me," he said. And then, because he couldn't resist anymore, he kissed her.

She sighed softly and sank into the kiss, returning it. It was sweet and intense and grew deeper as it went on. He wanted her. He needed her. The whole world was just the two of them right now, cocooned in their blankets and safe from the storm. His hands found the hem of her sweater, and the shirt beneath. Under that was warm skin, and he reached to touch it hesitantly.

The sound she made was nearly a purr and she pulled herself closer. He worked the fabric upward, revealing more of her to his touch. He traced the bones of her spine and the bumps of her ribs. Even her skin was beautiful. "Please," he whispered, not sure what he was asking for, but wanting to be sure she was with him.

"Yes," she murmured, tangling her hands in the fabric of his shirt. "Steve, yes."

He pushed the sweater higher. "Lift," he whispered, and the two of them got it over her head. Her bra took a little fumbling, but they got it off, too. Now he could kiss her and touch her at the same time. It was only a moment before he stopped to take his own shirt off. It had buttons they struggled with in the dark. But he wanted her skin against his.

When they were both topless they could tangle together. She was soft and warm as he'd imagined she might be. Her hands tangled in his hair and stroked his back, nails scraping. They cupped his ass through his jeans, pressing him closer. He groaned, the blatant invitation hitting him as hard as the touch itself, and suddenly his cock was straining against his zipper. He got his hand between them just so he could cup her breast and rub his thumb over her nipple.

She gasped into his mouth, a shudder running through her. The nipple peaked against his thumb and she arched, eager for another touch.

His fingers drifted down, over her stomach to the waistband of her pants. He didn't want to ask her if she was sure, because it seemed and insulting question given her eagerness. But he did feel like he ought to say something. "Are we really doing this?"

Her laugh was little more than a puff of air against him. "I think we are."

"I want you so much," he said quietly. "I want this. Us."

Sharon groaned. "So do I."

He undid just the button. "Birth control?"

"I'm covered."

He trusted her, so he wasn't going to investigate what that meant. Instead he busied himself with getting her pants off. She did her best to help, kicking them down. The calves were still damp and they stuck, forcing him to yank them inside out to get them off, leaving them both laughing. He tossed them out of the blanket nest, and then thought it best to see to getting his own pants off. A moment later they too sailed into the darkness. Both of them still had their socks on, but it was pretty damn cold, so that was just going to have to stay.

"I wish I could see you," he whispered as he pulled her back into his arms, her naked body pressing against his.

She kissed his jaw, his throat. "When the sun comes up I'll still be naked."

"I know," he told her, letting his hands wander her body. One dipped between her legs, fingers finding her wet. She was as bad as him. "But I want to watch your skin flush. See your face when you come."

Air hiss through her teeth. "I guess we'll have to do this again, then." He stroked her folds and she bucked. "Fuck, Steve."

He kissed her, and murmured against her mouth, "I sure as hell hope so."

She wound a leg around his hips, kissing him roughly. "Please," she whispered. "Please."

There should probably be more, he should make this slower, but the way she ground against him just about broke him. He shifted, rolling her beneath him and letting her wrap both her legs around him. Slowly he sank into her, and her body stretched and surrounded him, fitting as perfect as anything ever had. In the pitch blackness, all he had to go on was feel. Somehow it made the whole thing more intense.

Her breath was coming fast and rough in his ear and he could feel her heartbeat as she pulsed around him. He moved and she shuddered, whimpering his name, as she started to move with him. She rocked up to meet him and they found a perfect push-pull against each other. Faster, harder, she met him stroke for stroke.

She grew slicker around him, sweat making their bodies slide easier. The scent of sex filled the little nook, driving the last of the cold and demons from his head. Sharon was amazingly responsive, even in the dark. Every angle change or deeper thrust got a gasp or moan.

When he was getting close to his limit she moaned, "Fuck. Oh fuck. Steve." And he remembered a long ago conversation about her repeating that particular word during sex. Sure enough the next words out of her were, "Fuck, Steve, I'm close."

He reached between them to find her clit. She was squeezing him tighter and tighter. "I know, baby, I can feel it," he whispered.

Her fingers dug into his hair and she pressed her forehead to his, breath mingling. If they could see they'd be looking right into each others eyes. "Fuck me," she whimpered, obviously lost in it. "Fuck, fuck." She repeated it till it blurred into nonsense, then her hips snapped up to his, out of rhythm, grinding his hand into her. The loss of control, the desperation in her voice, was almost as hot as the way she pulsed and spasmed around him, milking his cock.

He had a few erratic thrusts left, and barely that. He let her pull him with her, and he came apart as she was still shaking beneath him. She mumbled something appreciative as he filled her. When he slumped bonelessly on top of her she caught him, nuzzling his cheek affectionately.

Steve wanted to say something, but found his voice choked with emotion. The storm was howling and raging outside, and he didn't even care. She was wrapped around him like armor. It took a couple of swallows and some time catching their breath before he finally said, "You really are the best thing about the future."

*

Light was coming in the windows of the trailer when Sharon woke. It had that overly bright quality of sun reflecting off of snow, bringing back memories of childhood. It was the light pattern that indicated, before she even had to get out of bed to look, that there might be a snow day.

Sometime in the night, the storm had stopped, and Steve had finally fallen asleep. He'd been restless while the wind was still blowing, so she kept him plenty busy and distracted. Now he seemed to be sleeping like the dead beside her, flipped onto his stomach with one arm slung over her.

It was not nearly as chilly outside their blanket burrito as she'd expected. Her nose wasn't even cold. Apparently the power had come back overnight, and the heat was on.

She stretched a bit, wiggling her arms free, and turned to look at Steve. As promised, he hadn't snored. The bed hadn't really been big enough for the both of them and he'd spent most of it tangled around him, a warm, oddly familiar weight. She carded her fingers through his hair, smiling fondly at him. Last night had been rather remarkable. As good as she'd ever hoped it might be.

Parts of her were sore and vaguely sticky. If the power was on maybe she could manage a hot shower before he woke up. Carefully, she started to disentangle herself. He made a grumbling noise, but released her. She found his shirt on the floor, the white oxford he'd worn to whatever party he'd gone to. There was an entertaining, stereotypical quality to that.

The bathroom was so tiny she had no idea how Steve himself had managed to fit in the shower. When she turned the water on it came out ice cold, so she let it run to warm up. She sat on the little couch while she waited, and noticed there was a sketchbook open on the arm, containing a half-done drawing of a snow-covered pine tree.

She moved it over to her lap to study it closer. She'd seen glimpses of his sketches here and there and liked his style. Almost photo realistic at times, often with a hint of melancholy. She flipped the page to find a city scape, probably from his window at the Tower.

Sharon flipped another page back, and found her own face. The portrait he'd promised her, it looked like. It was an incredibly detailed profile. He had to have done it from a photograph. His memory couldn't be that good. Though, maybe the serum had made it so. Or he simply studied her that close.

She flipped to the next page to find another portrait of her, a little rougher, in mid laugh. That had to be from memory, she didn't think he had access to any candid pictures like this. The picture behind that was her, as well. How many times had he sketched her?

Curious, now, she turned more pages. There were lots of things in there, like snapshots of his life and experiences. The Avengers, Bucky, New York. Sam and the places they'd been on the hunt. The Barton Farm and Sokovia. But sprinkled in there, every couple of pages, was her. 

He'd clearly been drawing her since long before anything romantic had happened between them. The book seemed to begin after the fall of SHIELD. The pictures of her picked up a few dozen pages in, after a series of sketches of the cemetery Peggy was buried in. So since they'd met, really. She wondered idly if their was a sketchbook somewhere with portraits of Kate the nurse. 

Carefully, she flipped back to the last one, in profile, probably done sometime after their last visit. It was really beautiful, flattering the way any good portrait should be. She could see it going up in a museum somewhere. "Portrait of the Artist's Lover" or something like that.

"You're wasting the hot water," Steve said from the doorway.

She jumped, feeling oddly guilty and looked up at him. "Hi, yes. Sorry."

He gestured at the drawing. "I did promise you a portrait."

"It's beautiful," she said honestly.

He smiled and reached for the sketchbook. "Well, its subject is."

She handed it over. "Thank you," she said quietly, thought she wasn't entirely sure what for.

Steve leaned in to give her a kiss. "You're always welcome. Go shower."

In the shower, she thought it over, the implications of the pictures, the night before. She didn't want to go back to the way they were before. Platonic dates and frissons of awareness every time his arm bumped hers. She wanted more nights like the night before. Possibly preceded by lounging together on the couch and watching Netflix.

She hoped those pictures meant he felt the same.

He was waiting to shower himself when she got out. The heat had been cranked high enough he was apparently comfortable doing so in just a towel. She thought about when they'd been in Belarus, how careful he'd been to change in the bathroom. Protecting the boundaries between them. Everything he did, he did deliberately. Including stand around casually in with towel just barely hanging off his hip bones.

"I found oatmeal packets and put water on to boil," he was saying while she was busy not paying attention. It had been so dark last night that this was really her first glimpse at what he looked like (mostly) naked.

There was a moment of silence while he clearly expected an answer. What had he said? Something about food. She jumped a little and blinked. "Oh. Sounds delicious." Much the way he _looked_ delicious.

He grinned at her, a remarkably knowing grin. That pretty much confirmed he was, in fact, showing off. "The packet I had yesterday was about as gourmet as the Instant Lunch."

"I guess you'll owe me some eggs and bacon when we get back to civilization."

"I'd consider that fair. You save me any hot water?"

"Tried to." She finished drying and deliberately unwound her towel and hung it up, giving him a complete eyeful before grabbing his shirt again. 

He reached out and caught her wrist, surprising her with the strength of the grip. "I'll be quick," he told her. "Stay naked."

Heat poured through her as she looked up at him. Swallowing hard, she nodded, not really trusting herself to speak. He pulled her close enough to kiss her, hot and intense, and turned them while he did it, so he could get over to the shower. They pressed quite close due to the tight space. He pulled the door open blindly, and the water came on. Then finally he broke the kiss, tossed his towel at her, and stepped into the spray.

Sharon let out her breath in a rush. Forcing herself to turn away, she turned and hung up the towel before slipping out of the bathroom to make their breakfast.

The kettle was whistling, and she debated the wisdom of handling boiling water while naked. She also debated how much thought she should give to the fact that she found him barking an order at her like that so hot.

She turned the electric burner off and let the water sit a moment, listening to Steve's shower run. Making the oatmeal too early would just make it gluey by the time he was done. She busied herself pouring orange juice and dumping the oatmeal powder into bowls. When she heard the shower cut off she heated the water back to boiling in an effort not to think about him naked and dropping just a few feet away.

The bathroom door opened a moment later. He'd mostly toweled off and was drying his hair. "Breakfast, eh?"

"Seemed like getting a little fuel might do us good," she offered, making a valiant effort to look at his face.

He crossed the trailer—it wasn't that big—and came up behind her, sliding his arms around her waist. "Mmmm."

She leaned back into him, enjoying the feel of his skin. He was warm and still damp and brought back all manner of memories from the night before. He moved one hand upwards, filling his palm with her breast. The other flattened on her abdomen and drifted downward. She looked down, mesmerized by the sight of him touching her.

His fingers were a little rough on the sensitive skin of her belly. She watched him slide the hand lower, fingers curving to fit against the folds of her sex. She closed her eyes then, leaning back into him, going up on her toes so he could stroke her easier.

"I thought you were making oatmeal," he murmured into her ear, his middle finger finding her clit and pressing in slow, lazy circles.

"We are not calling it that," she told him, turning to kiss his throat.

"Pardon me," he said, speed picking up. "Instant Breakfast?"

Her breath came in short bursts. "Instant?" She lifted her arm to wrap it around his neck. "You don't give yourself enough credit."

"Maybe." He rubbed his thumb over her nipple, making her gasp. "Or maybe you'll come before the kettle whistles."

"Fuck," she breathed. Her head tipped back against his shoulder. She was beyond teasing, beyond flirting. Could only focus on the feel of his hands on her. Pleasure built up in her, hot and heavy. She rocked against him, grinding into his fingers. She shook roughly as she came.

He held her, letting her ride it out. "Would have been disappointed without at least one curse," he said. On the stove the kettle whistle sounded. He reached past her to turn the stove off.

"How do you know me that well after one night?" she asked when she could breathe again.

"I know you better than anyone," he told her, and she knew it wasn't just about sex.

She turned in his arms and wrapped hers around him. "That's very, very true."

He kissed her, lifting her up against the counter. She could feel him hard and pressing against her. "I want you," he growled.

She wound her legs around him, hooking them behind his knees. "Come here and fuck me, then." He made an inarticulate noise, and lifted her so he could fit himself inside her. He leaned back just a little and looked down to watch them join.

The shower had eased most of her soreness, but this particular area had gotten a great deal of attention in the last twelve hours and she was sensitive. Especially after her last orgasm. It made him feel huge, every inch of him stretching her.

When he was buried completely he looked up at her face and she stroked his cheek with her knuckles. "Are you going to watch me?" she whispered, wanting to tease him a little. "My skin flush. My face when I come?"

His body shuddered. "Yes," he hissed, then he pulled out, and pushed back in.

She gasped, resting the back of her head on the cabinets behind her. She was a little concerned he was going to break something if he got too excited, but then, she didn't really care. Truth be told she'd find that pretty hot.

Letting her hands slid down his arms, she gripped the edge of the counter, leaning back slightly and shifting her hips forward so he could see all of her. Her skin was already heated, nipples tight and dark with pleasure. He was keeping up the same deep thrusts and the feel of it was intense. Everything about him was intense.

"Fuck me," she whispered, glancing down to watch him fill her again. "God, please fuck me."

He braced his hand on the cabinet door behind her and hitched one of her legs up higher. The angle changed and he hit some new spot inside her they'd somehow managed to miss last night.

"Oh, fuck," she whimpered, toes curling. She reached for him, nails digging into his shoulder. "Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck-" The orgasm swept through her like a storm, clenching her desperately around him. She couldn't move much, but she rocked her hips, whimpering with the intensity of it. He groaned, shook, and lifted her a little up off the counter. She could feel him pouring into her.

And also rippling the cabinet door straight off the hinges.

She clung to him, kissing him sloppily, as her body settled, still throbbing around his cock now and again. It was such a cliche, but she'd never felt like this with anyone else before. Like they were made for each other. From the fist kiss last night they'd been like gasoline and matches. The reactions he got from her were instinctive, urgent. She'd never come so many times in one night.

"I don't want to stop," she mumbled.

He nuzzled her hair. "I don't think we could get back over the Rubicon if we tried." He lifted his head. "Why do you think we'd stop?" 

"I don't know. I just. . . this almost doesn't seem real. Like we're in a different world, here in the snow."

"We're still us." He pulled back, and helped her down from the counter. He took a breath. "And honestly, I'm not sure my heart could handle it if this wasn't real." 

"This is very real," she told him. She stroked her hands along his arms and across his chest. "Probably has been for a long, long time."

"I didn't want to interfere," he said quietly. "I wanted you to be happy."

She tilted her head, studying him. "You say that a lot. About me. Bucky. Even about Peggy, in the past tense." She touched his jaw. "Do you ever want yourself to be happy?"

"Been a long time since I considered that possibility," he replied, with a surprising amount of honesty.

" _I_ want you to be happy."

That made him smile. "Right now, I really am."

"Good. So am I." She drew him down for a kiss. "What do you say we eat our probably gross oatmeal and go back to bed?"

"Sounds like an excellent start."


	9. Chapter 9

The instant oatmeal wasn't exactly filling, and hunger got the best of Steve by mid morning. So as much as they wanted to stay in bed all day, they bundled up and dug their way out, back to Steve's rental car. They found a diner in town, for a real breakfast.

"I was thinking," he said over his second order of french toast, "That we should go back down to the city." 

"Trailer losing its charm?" Sharon asked, sipping her coffee.

"I was just thinking we could lock ourselves in a nice hotel room, order room service and spend a couple of days. . . figuring this out. In a bed we actually fit in, no less."

She smiled, looking very pretty in the thin light pouring through the diner windows. "I don't have to be back in DC till Monday morning."

"It's a plan then?" He pulled out his phone to find them a hotel.

"Absolutely. Can't think of anything I'd rather do."

They held hands on the drive down, and he left his rental car with the valet, who clearly recognized him, but Steve didn't feel like contemplating that right now. He had better things to focus on.

The hotel was library themed, which Steve thought was kind of adorable, and might have that quiet, tucked-away feeling he was going for. Tall old windows and dark polished wood felt familiar and safe to him, more so than the modern architecture that dominated most nice places. And the rooms were decorated with books.

The rooms were themed by the dewey decimal system. Despite being Captain America, because it was Saturday afternoon, he could not get them a room on the Arts or Literature floors unless they wanted a double bed. Space considerations won, and so they ended up in a room full of books about dinosaurs. But it did have a great view.

The hadn't needed a bell hop for their minimal luggage. Steve tossed their duffel bags into the closet and watched Sharon make her traditional circle of the room, peeling out of her scarf and coat. She peered at the black and white sketch of some sort of extinct badger before looking out the window. "Excellent find, Cap."

"If I'd booked far enough in advance, there's a room that's full of Lady Porn," he told her.

She glanced over at him. "Not sure I need it."

He grinned. "I guess that's true." He came closer and slid his arms around her. "Room service for dinner?"

He liked the way she seemed to fit just perfectly into him, her arms going around his waist. "Sounds good. I think we'll need our strength."

He kissed her hair, and went to get the menu. "You want to see it or you want me to order for you?" He could honestly probably order for her in just about any restaurant in the city at this point. They really did know each other well, didn't they?

"You can pick. Get me a dessert, too."

"Yes, ma'am." He dug through the menu and ordered them dinner, dessert, and a bottle of wine. It wouldn't do anything for him, but he kind of liked the taste of really nice wine. The kind only rich people drank when he was growing up. And Sharon might be fun tipsy.

When he went back to the bed, she'd hauled out one of the dinosaur books and had it open on the bed. "We could do that tonight, instead, of course. Read side by side like a middle aged married couple."

"I'm learning exciting things about the ankylosaur," she told him. 

He sat on the end of the bed. "Can I ask you something?"

She closed the book. "Anything you like."

"Is the fact that my last serious relationship with with your aunt going to be. . . weird?" He'd almost certainly told Sharon more about him and Peggy than he would have if it had occurred to him they'd end up here.

Her cheeks pinked a little, as if she were remembering some of those things. "I - maybe a little? I admit there were a few times last night I was very determinedly not thinking of certain things."

"You okay with that?"

She reached over and curled a hand over his knee. "I will deal with a lot more than that for an opportunity to be with you."

Steve leaned over to kiss her. "Good. Me too."

For a moment the kiss too off, hot and intense as any before. After a moment, she leaned back. "I do not want to be in the middle of something when room service knocks."

"Yeah, I ordered a lot, they'll need to roll the tray in." He looked out the window. "It's snowing again."

She leaned her head on his shoulder. "Not so bad now?"

"Not at all." He was quiet a moment. The storm last night had been awful, and being in a tiny metal trailer hadn't helped. For a moment there he actually thought he was back on the plane sinking into the arctic. "Thank you. For last night."

"Anytime," she said softly.

"That's never happened before. I don't want you to think I panic every time there's bad weather."

She shook her head. "It was a strange place, cramped, and a bad storm. It makes sense it would set off bad things for you."

He rested his cheek against the top of her head, and they watched the storm. "Now you know all my secrets."

"I always knew you were human," she told him. "You don't have to be Captain America with me."

"Except when it turns you on a little bit?"

He could feel her smile against his shoulder. "I admit to finding Cap voice, on occasion, kind of hot."

That mad him oddly happy. "That's unique to you, you know."

She cleared her throat. "Others have not found it hot?"

"They have not." He didn't elaborate. It was probably better that he didn't.

"Well then. I'll keep that just for myself."

"You can have all of me," he told her. "I think this is that kind of thing."

She sighed but it sounded like contentment. "Yeah, I think it is that kind of thing."

There was a knock on the door, interrupting the moment. Steve got up to let the room service in. Sharon waited on the bed as he and the bell hop set up the cart loaded down with food and wine. He tipped the kid well and ushered him out before turning back to her.

Climbing off the bed, she went to peruse the dishes he'd ordered. "Is this, technically, our first date?"

He stacked the covers neatly. "What was last night, then?"

She tilted her head. "I suppose Ramen and hours of sex _does_ count as a date of some sort."

"Now we'll have a nice dinner and hours of sex." He grinned at her. "Hopefully."

"And we'll have light. To watch." Her gaze wandered over him, heated, eyes dark.

He groaned, and pointed a fork at her. "Food first."

"Yes, Cap," she sing-song, lifting the wine bottle to pour them each a glass. The food was a vast improvement over the stuff from the trailer. The wine was good and Sharon had enough of it that she managed to turn eating her dessert into a rather arousing show. He was all he could do not to tip the table as he stood to scoop her up.

She was giggling a little as she poured the last of it into her glass. Tipsy Sharon was fun - and obviously horny. "What was our second agenda item?" she teased.

"I was thinking about taking off your clothes and tossing you on the bed." 

Smiling sweetly, she asked, "Are you going to use your Cap voice when you do it?"

"Maybe." He stood slowly, holding out his hand for hers. She slipped hers into his, small and strong curled around his fingers. He pulled her to her feet, showing off his strength a little, and her gaze darkened again.

"Take everything off," he told her, making it an order, pleased it made her suck in a breath.

The wine had obviously lowered her inhibitions because she managed to make peeling off her t-shirt and shimmying out of jeans remarkably sexy. Her simple cotton underwear and pale pink bra joined them on the floor and then she stood in front of him naked and marvelously well lit, all strong limbs and tan skin. Her nipples were already flushed and peaked. He was kind of awed by her. And by the fact that she really was his. "You are so beautiful," he whispered.

She blushed, which was kind of adorable. "Thank you. So are you."

He pulled his sweater and t-shirt over his head, mostly because he was aware she enjoyed the view. Then he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her slowly, tenderly. She melted into him, as eager and responsive as she'd been the night before. Her arms slid around his waist and she stepped close, body pressed along the length of his. He slid his hands down to her waist and lifted her up, turning to toss her on the bed. She giggled when she landed and bounced a little. He crawled up to her, dipping his head to kiss her navel.

Her fingers speared into his hair and she lifted up to him, muscles rippling under her skin. The sound she made was almost a purr. He pushed her legs wider apart, and she obligingly draped them over his shoulders. A shiver of anticipation ran through her before leaned down to kiss her sex.

"Fuck," she whispered, fingers clenching as he gave her one long slow lick. He'd done this last night, in the dark, relying only on her reactions and his instinct. This was much better. He could see her legs tremble, watch her body writhe and arch as he teased and tasted her.

She was noticeably wetter when she started to beg, "Please, please, I'm so close. I want to come."

Last night, he'd taken that as an invitation to fuck her. It probably still was. But this, he'd decided, would be more fun to see through. He flicked his tongue over her clit, and she yanked on his hair so hard it hurt.

"Fuck," she moaned. "Steve, fuck me. I want- I want-" He focused all his considerable attention on her clit and in a moment she was wailing as she came, body pulsing and shuddering. 

He crawled up her as she calmed, kissing her gently. "That's my girl."

She mumbled something incoherent and cupped his face, kissing him back. She bent her legs, cradling his hips between her thighs. He watched her, and waited for her to open her eyes. She gave him a dazed, drowsy, beautiful smile. He couldn't quite recall that last time he'd been this. . . happy.

"God, I love you," he whispered, the words out before he could stop them.

Her eyes widened, then the smile turned brilliant. "I love you, too," she said, lips brushing against his as she spoke.

He closed his eyes, in pleasure and relief. "Not too much for a first date?"

She shook her head. "It's just perfect. Everything is perfect."

"Almost," he replied. He moved, she lifted up to him, and he pushed inside her, their bodies fitting together perfectly.

With her hips tilted he was able to sink in completely, bottoming out. Her eyes got that dazed look again and he could feel little ripples and pulses of her muscles surrounding him. "I love how you feel," she whispered. "Filling me up, touching every part. It's never felt like this before." She stroked his cheek with a thumb. "Are you going to make me come again? I want to come for you." Clearly, while he was learning her body she was figuring out a few of his buttons as well.

"Yes," he groaned, moving faster. "Please. Let me feel it."

Her breath hitched and she lifted to meet him, both of them increasing their pace. She held his gaze, though her eyes got a glassy sheen of pleasure as she grew closer.

He felt her start to squeeze him when she gasped out, "Close. I'm so close. Make me. Order me."

He nipped her mouth a little. "Come for me," he told her, as much an order as he could make it.

Her lids fluttered and her head snapped back. He watched her come even as he felt it. He memorized it, the cording of the tendons in her neck, the silent 'o' she made. Her nails dug at his back as she rocked against him, riding it out.

When he couldn't take it anymore, he let go, fighting to hold her eyes as the hot pleasure rushed through him. He sank as deep as he could go and she cupped the back of his head, watching him as he had her. She drew his forehead down to rest on hers as he calmed and they lay like that for a while, breath mingling, eyes locked. It was intimate and tender, like they were sealing a bond or a vow. Maybe they were. "I love you," he said again.

For a moment she looked a bit teary, but she smiled. "I love you back."

He kissed her, and then rolled off her, taking her with him so she curled at his side. "I want to draw you," he told her. "Like this."

She nuzzled his shoulder. "I feel like that picture would not get finished, but I'm game."

"Soon enough I'll be able to do it from memory." God knows he'd drawn her face enough.

They were silent a moment, then she said, "I saw the other portraits. In your sketch pad."

He looked over at her, unable to read her expression. "I suppose it was the closest I could get to touching you. Back when I couldn't."

She smiled, which was reassuring. "I thought about you quite a bit," she admitted. "I think if I could draw I'd probably have books like that of you."

"I was afraid you'd think it was weird . But it's just. . . how I process the world, I guess."

"I understand. We both dealt with it as best we could." She sighed and resettled on his arm. "I'll pose for you whenever you like."

Because it was a fancily made hotel bed, they had to actually get up before they could get under the covers. Steve turned the lights out, so they were in the dark with just the city lights coming in the windows. This dark he didn't mind too much. "Now we just have to figure out how to make this work."

He felt as much as heard her sigh. "We do live rather far apart."

"And that's only going to get worse, with the move upstate."

"People do long distance relationships all the time," she offered.

He kissed her hair. "I have faith in us."

"We've come this far. A little situational logistics has to be easier."

He pulled her closer. "I admit, quitting my job sounds very tempting right now.

She laughed softly and nuzzled herself under his chin. "Let's both quit and bum around Europe."

"Only if we go somewhere nicer than Belarus."

"I'm sure there are other options."

"Italy is nice this time of year." He was quiet a moment, thinking. "We could take a vacation."

"I have time banked at work." The teasing note in her voice was gone and he got the feeling they were now being serious. "A few weeks at least."

"I've got plenty of time before HQ opens." He pushed up on his elbow. "We should do it. Figure us out. Be alone and frequently in bathing suits. Somewhere warm."

She rolled to look at him. "All right. Let's do it."

He leaned in to kiss her. "I'll start looking in the morning."

When he leaned back, she studied his face and smiled softly. "I love you."

Repeating her words from before, he said, "I love you back."

*

It took the rest of March to plan their vacation. It ended up working in their favor. The list of warm weather locales was a lot larger in April. They settled on Hawaii after deciding Australia was too long of a flight. Apparently, April was the best time for whale watching and the thermometer lingered around 80. Sharon cashed in all of her PTO time and ended up with over three weeks. She didn't think she'd ever taken a vacation that long, not since she'd started working full time. Just the idea of it was enough to relax her.

Steve planned the vacation like it was the Normandy invasion. (And Steve had been at some of the Normandy planning meetings.) Because she knew him as well as she knew anyone, she sent him her requests in the format of a mission briefing. It included sections on how much time they would be scheduled to do nothing, the acceptable activity to relaxation ratio, and other parameters. He replied back to the email with _I love you._

They flew first class, because Steve made quite a bit of money as an Avenger. The night before he emailed her an eight page itinerary, despite sending it from the other side of her bed. There were hard copies of said itinerary in his carry on, too. This. This was the rest of her life.

That was actually quite a nice thought.

The seats were not as fancy as the ones on the way to Belarus, but even though it was eleven hours, it was during the day so it wasn't like they were sleeping. It was the happiest flight she'd ever been on, as apparently 3/4 of the plane was on vacation. Once they got in the air, the flight attendant brought her a tropical-flavored mimosa, and Steve went to the bathroom while the seatbelt light was off. She could see him get a little mobbed by people recognizing him, but it was mostly kids and he seemed happy. She decided to take a closer look at his itinerary, because she'd only read the summary top page. 

As it turned out, the reason it was 8 pages long is he detailed each day's activity, and then added X-rated descriptions of what they might do with their down time that particular day.

"I don't think this one is anatomically possible," she told him when he'd returned to his seat.

He leaned over to look at it. "I've seen you do yoga."

Fair point. "Remind me to buy Advil when we get there."

He lifted a shoulder and gave her a sideways grin. "I'll be holding your weight anyway."

Leaning over, she kissed his cheek and whispered, "Don't get me wet on an airplane unless you intend to do something about it."

"If I were less famous and more able to fit in that tiny bathroom, I might think about that."

"Tease." She kissed his cheek again and resettled in her seat.

In late afternoon they landed in Honolulu, where they'd spend the first few days. Steve wanted to visit Pearl Harbor, and get the depressing part of the trip out of the way first. They stayed in Waikiki in a room with a fabulous view of the city and ocean. Room service delivered dinner to their balcony so they could eat in the salty breeze.

"Okay, but the food _really_ is better in the future," he told her as he worked through what looked to be an entire tuna's worth of sashimi.

"I don't disagree. I'm just betting Hawaiian food was probably better than mainland food in the 30s as well." She leaned back in her chair, sipping the best cup of coffee she'd ever had.

"Probably." He licked wasabi and soy sauce off his fingers. "I wonder sometimes if we'd have been sent to the Pacific after the end of the war in Europe. If I hadn't died, of course."

She tipped her head back. "I can see it going either way. Possible they'd have sent you all home for a victory parade or three and by the time you were done V-J day would have happened. There's only about three months between them." Sipping her coffee, she added, "Peggy and the other commandos didn't go."

"Probably because they were no longer headed by a kid who didn't know when to back down from a fight. Or an idiot with no sense of self preservation. Depending on if you were asking Bucky or Peggy to describe me."

"Both equally accurate, if you ask me."

"In my defense, there is a certain amount of self preservation in saving the world. Since I do live in it."

His logic was undeniable. "How do you explain all the times you jumped out of a plane when the world _wasn't_ explicitly in danger?"

"I can survive a pretty significant fall," he replied, not entirely answering the point of her question.

"Do you lose the power if you stop doing it? The guy at the front dest told me about a rock on the north shore you can jump off of into the water."

Steve chuckled, and shook his head. He fussed about pouring himself more coffee, reloading his sauce dish, and shuffling his plates around. "I woke up from the ice and everyone I loved was dead or dying. Then I went to work for assholes who trusted me so little they bugged my apartment _and_ put a spy in the apartment next door. Who may have only ever seen me as a weapon with a pulse. Not a whole lot there worth preserving anyway."

"That's not how I saw you," she said softly.

He looked up at her. "No, I know. The 'who' was the assholes." He nudged her with his knee. "Sorry."

Covering his knee with her hand, she rubbed his skin gently with her thumb. "What about now?"

"This is worth preserving." He reached down and put his hand over hers. "I have to do something _really_ dangerous to feel fear. But it was at least feeling something, you know? Now I have more feelings than I know what to do with."

That made her smile and gave her the courage to broach a topic she'd been turning over in her head. "Can I ask something that might upset you?"

He studied her face and nodded. "Okay."

"Have you given any thought to _not _being Captain America? Just being Steve Rogers."__

__"Is there a living in that?"_ _

__She squeezed his knee. "People have been making a living not-being-Captain-America for thousands of years."_ _

__"They aren't generally so famous everyone in the country has an opinion on them."_ _

__Well, she hadn't expected this to be an easy conversation. "Way I see it, you have two options. One, go incognito. Grow a beard, wear some bulky shirts and focus on art or something. Draw portraits in Times Square. Or, use your fame the way you want to. Go on the lecture circuit. Pick and choose who and what you want to talk about."_ _

__He tipped his head back. "I have been told I give good speeches."_ _

__"The one on the comms at the Trisk was very stirring."_ _

__He looked over at her. "This is because you don't want to have to spend half your weekends in Ithaca, isn't it?"_ _

__"It's a factor," she conceded with a smile, then sobered. "But mostly it's because I love you and I want you to be happy. And I think sometimes you're been doing things that make you unhappy for so long you've forgotten there's another option."_ _

__"I'll think about it," he said after a moment. "I will."_ _

__She squeezed his leg again and nodded, turning back to her coffee. "That's all I ask."_ _


	10. Chapter 10

They went to Pearl Harbor in the morning, and he was entirely Captain America for the duration. A private tour and visit to the _Arizona_ memorial had been arranged, but needed to start at dawn. Their guide was utterly starstruck—however varied public opinion might be, military members were almost universally huge fans. And the privacy was nice, so Steve could have a moment. 

Steve liked to pay his respects on Memorial Day. Last year the press had finally gotten wind of it and the paparazzi camped out at the graves of every one of the Howling Commandos—including Notre Dame de Lorette in France and the tiny village church in Sussex where Fallsworth was, Barnes's graveless memorial at Arlington, and the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier—in hopes he'd turn up and they'd get an image of Sad Captain America they could sell. They were vultures.

The unfortunate photographer who chose Peggy's grave as the place to stalk had been long gone by the time Steve showed up there, because Sharon had threatened to shoot him. 

They went through the museum cum gift shop on the way out and Sharon got a couple of books and a keychain. She insisted Steve get a hat, because he could never have too many ball caps to hide under. And the obvious tourist spot would help him blend.

It was still egregiously early for a vacation when they were done so they followed the tour guide's directions to a run down looking bakery called Leonards for something called malasadas.

Malasadas turned out to be religious experiences disguised as doughnuts.

"We could just move here and get fat," she suggested.

"I'm pretty sure I can't get fat," he replied. "And you'd be bored."

"I'd find some way to entertain myself." She sucked powdered sugar off her thumb. "Take up surfing."

"I would sit on the beach and watch that."

They were currently on a bench at the edge of the sand, eating their unhealthy breakfast and watching the waves churn. "Then we'd both be entertained."

He kicked off his sneakers. "I was thinking I need to get some sandals, and then we should go jump off that rock." Neither of these activities were on the itinerary. She hoped that was a good sign and not the first indication of some sort of cognitive break.

"I'm certain somewhere on this island is a place we can buy flip flops. Though if we're going to go jump in the ocean I want to change my clothes."

He leaned over to kiss her. "I'll allow it."

They spent the rest of the day off itinerary. After the rock and swimming, they drove around the island, stopping at shrimp shack for lunch and a shave ice stand for dessert. They stood at Pali Lookout and took pictures, then hiked down an old highway now grown over with tropical plants and trees. Her legs were jelly by the time they hiked back up and she seriously considered asking Steve to carry her into the hotel.

Once in their room she flopped onto a lounge on the balcony determined not to move till bedtime. "This was a very relaxing day," he told her, because of course for him, that had barely qualified as light workout.

"Mmm." She closed her eyes and stretched her toes. "That was the best shrimp I've ever had."

"This is the best idea either of us has ever had."

Considering their combined idea pool included signing up for questionable medical experiments, jumping out of planes with no parachutes, and fringe bangs, it was a pretty low bar. But this was, by far, the most happy and relaxed she had ever seen him so she wasn't going to start anything. "And we still have three weeks left."

*

They took surf lessons. They snorkeled. They hiked, they visited volcanos and waterfalls and all different beaches. They island hopped and ate too much food. He sketched a thousand things and she took ten times as many pictures. They explored each other in every way possible. It felt a lot like Steve imagined a honeymoon would. It was also the longest break he'd had since before the serum.

The last week they were in a beach front suite at a resort on the Big Island, the itinerary ditched except for the dirty parts.

"We should skinny-dip in the ocean," he told her one night. Their suite had a private outdoor hot-tub, which they had already been in naked—but that was mostly blocked from view.

She hummed in pleasure then chuckled. "Your ideas interest me."

"If I'm not going to jump out of planes, I need to get my adrenaline doses somehow."

"I suppose there's worse things for you to pick up than an exhibitionist streak." She frowned, then sat up a little. "Are you swearing off plane jumping?"

Wasn't that the million-dollar question? "Seems very unappealing right now."

"Well, yes. What if you missed and hit the volcano?"

He smiled, looking over at her. "That's not what I meant."

"I know." She poked him with her foot. "But I like making you smile."

He stretched out on his back, tucking his hands behind his head and looking up at the ceiling. "The night after Bucky fell from the train, Peggy and I ended up stuck in the air-raid shelter under a bombed out bar in London. I remember telling her how I wouldn't rest until I had revenge. Until Hydra had been wiped off the face of the earth. She told me if I devoted my entire being to the cause, I would have nothing left when I won." 

"Peggy was generally pretty smart about such things," Sharon said quietly. "Even if she did occasionally forget to live her life in the pursuit of her cause."

"It turned out worse than that, though. Because it was never over. I have been at war with _somebody_ since 1943. This is the first vacation I've ever taken. This is the longest I've gone without expecting imminent violence since, I think, kindergarten."

She looked like she wasn't quite sure where he was going with this. Or maybe she was afraid to hope. "And you find you like it?"

He rolled on his side to face her. "I really do," he said quietly.

"Whatever you decide, I support you," she said, reaching out to touch his cheek. "I want you to be happy. And I don't think anyone would blame you if you decided you'd done your bit for Uncle Sam and wanted to retire."

Steve turned his face into her hand and kissed her palm. "Sometimes the Commandos were camped out and we couldn't sleep, we'd lay in the dark and play a game called After the War. Pick someone, make a funny prediction about what they'd be doing after the war. One time Jones and Dugan got into an argument in the middle of my 'prediction' about whether Peggy would or would not want to keep working rather than be a housewife."

Sharon laughed. "Was someone betting against her?"

"It was Dugan, if you must know. I piped up and told them I had no problem with her working. Dugan said someone had to stay home with the kids, Jones told him only white people thought you couldn't raise kids with two working parents, and I said that if I needed to, I'd look after the kids. The whole lot of them spent weeks making jokes about 'Captain America, House Husband'." 

"You'd be a great dad," Sharon said. "Alternately spoil them rotten and encourage them to climb to the top of the jungle gym and jump off."

"A little danger is good for them."

She chuckled and tucked her arm under her head, studying him. "I've been thinking lately that I hate renting. Didn't know what to do about it, with you up in Ithaca and the future kind of in flux. But having a house-husband to help keep it up does make it appealing."

"It wouldn't have been okay in the fifties," he said. "Would have gotten both of us labeled communists, and probably her fired for the sheer national embarrassment. But there are a lot of things better about the future." He reached to tangle their fingers together. "What if we did just. . .buy a house? Settle down, sit still, be normal. Let life happen."

"That sounds like a little bit of heaven," she said quietly.

"The idea of seeing you every day, of waking up next to you every morning, feels more right than all of this other bullshit I've been thinking about doing."

"What about Bucky?"

"I'm pretty sure he's only tagging along for me. He loves Amanda. He'll make a life with her. I hope." Bucky deserved his own life, the kind he'd wanted before the war turned everything upside down. A life that was about something other that following Steve into danger just to look after him.

She nodded, looking thoughtful. "All right. Let's do it."

A rather profound sense of peace settled over him. Like the tumblers of a lock all clicking into place, and the door swung open. It was almost perfect. Almost. "Small thing. . ." he said.

"I swear, Steve, if you tell me you're already married. . ."

It was so absurd he laughed out loud, flopping onto his back. "Who would I have married? And _when_?"

"I had a sudden flash that maybe you and Peggy presented yourselves to the base chaplain or something."

He shook his head. "The biographers probably would have discovered that by now."

"You made a good point." She scooted over and flopped on his chest. "So what's the small thing?"

"I was going to ask _you_ to marry me, but you've ruined the moment."

She grinned. "You wanna go skinny dip and ask me out there?"

"I was raised better than to propose to a woman naked," he informed her. She opened her mouth to comment on their current state, and he cut her off. "I still have one sock on." He'd gone for an evening run while she napped. He'd been shirtless due to the heat, and she'd jumped him when he returned. She'd mumbled something complimentary about glistening muscles.

Peering down at his feet, he thought he heard her mutter, "How did I miss that?" before looking back at him. "Does that mean skinny dip is off the table? Is this going to be a _thing_ now?"

"Proposing? Yes, that is the kind of thing that is usually a thing."

"It's not like you don't know what I'll say."

"We are not getting engaged by casual implication." He had no idea why he felt prickly about this. Maybe he was more old fashioned than he thought. He did only intend to ever do this once.

She blew out a breath, looking indulgent. "What now, then?"

"I'm still up for skinny dipping," he replied. He would ask her soon. He just needed the right moment.

With a grin, she kissed him and rolled off the bed to her feet. "Sounds like a plan."

Steve spend the rest of the trip with it on the tip of his tongue, but she didn't bring it up, and it didn't feel awkward. They had plenty to talk about anyway, trying to work out what their life might look like. 

He had been dreading getting on the plane to head home. But when it was time to do so, he felt only the normal pang of the end of a vacation. He was happy with the decision to retire and enjoying their dreams of the future. He spent the night at Sharon's place in DC, jet lag keeping them up till all hours looking at houses for sale and weighing the pros and cons of granite versus quartz countertops.

"Something went horribly wrong with architecture while I was in the ice," he muttered after they finally put the laptop away.

"I hate midcentury modern, too," she said, curling up around him. 

"So very new, or very old." They'd seen plenty of each. The newer ones struck him as cookie-cutter and soulless, designed without any art, too big and too close together in neighborhoods without trees. Old houses seemed like a lot of work. He wasn't Bucky, he didn't take any real enjoyment out of hammering things and had gotten to like many of the modern conveniences of the Tower. He'd had enough drafty windows and leaky roofs growing up.

"Old and lovingly updated," she added. Sometimes, he swore she actually read his mind. "With a yard and a good kitchen and a spare room for an art studio."

"Sounds about right." He looked over at her. "We could get some land and build one ourselves."

"That would be a long slog. Haven't you had enough hard hats with the thing upstate?"

"That is a good point," he replied. As appealing as something that was entirely theirs, where he could participate in the design process. . . he was done with limbo. With waiting. He wanted to get their lives started. "Old and lovingly updated. Yard, kitchen, studio. Trees," he added. "Good light. Good school district."

"Our real estate agent's going to _love_ us."

"We'll find it," he told her, closing his eyes as sleep tugged at him. He was worried about how it was going to go with Bucky. He hoped everything would be fine, but luck wasn't always on his side. "Needs a guest room, too."

Sharon kissed his cheek. "Of course."

In the morning, he kissed her goodbye on a train platform at Union Station in DC, and headed north, back to reality. There were some uncomfortable conversations in his future today.

He stopped to drop his luggage off in Nat's apartment, where he was still staying, then went to his to tell Bucky and Amanda he was back. He found the apartment immaculately cleaned. That alone set off a few alarm bells. Then he went to the kitchen to find Bucky with a couple days beard growth, at the table, a rifle disassembled in front of him, meticulously cleaning it.

Steve stood in the doorway, waiting for him to look up. He wasn't sure what was going on, but startling Bucky seemed like a bad idea.

He lifted his head to blow dust out of part and noticed Steve. To his relief, Bucky smiled a little. "Hey. You're back."

Steve sat across from him. "What happened?"

Bucky sighed and put down the gun part he'd been working on, wiping his hands on a rag. "Amanda left. She found a job at a hospital."

"So she left. . .you? I don't understand." Their thing hadn't seemed particularly temporary to Steve.

Sighing again, he scrubbed a hand over his face. "She didn't want to come up to Ithaca when we go. Which, admittedly, I should have probably asked about before assuming. Then we started talking about it and. . . I think she spent so much time helping me figure myself out she forgot to sort _herself_ out. She doesn't want to work for Hill and Stark and she misses helping people. Being a doctor. So she applied to some hospitals around here and got a job in Brooklyn. The commute was killing her but she wanted to wait till you got back before leaving. When she found somewhere closer I told her to go. I couldn't deal with the limbo anymore." He glanced around the spotless kitchen. "I kept myself busy."

Steve put his hand over his face. "Jesus. Buck. . ." Now he really had no idea how to start this conversation.

"I'm all right," he said quickly, obviously trying to reassure. "I've gone to the PTSD meetings regularly. I'm not mad at her. She needed to do what was best and it wasn't fair for me to drag her along behind me anymore."

"It isn't fair for me to do it to you, either."

"It was my choice." His jaw had that stubborn set that reminded Steve so much of when they were young.

"Do you want to, though? Do you want to keep fighting?"

He paused before answering. His right hand fiddled with one of the wire brushes spread out in front of him. "When we were crossing Russia - Amanda and I - we paid our way by helping the locals out. She'd do medical stuff, give exams. We liberated some medications and passed them out. Probably singlehandedly vaccinated fifty kids. And I would help fix and build things. Barns, sheds, additions to houses. I liked it. Working with my hands, building things." He glanced at Steve, looking nervous. "I'd rather do that, than fight."

"Then you should. You deserve your own life."

"What about you? It doesn't feel right to ditch you again. We just started sorting ourselves out and -"

"Modern communications do not require us to live in shouting distance like the old days." Steve looked up at him. "And I don't need you to watch my back in battle anymore, because I'm. . .done." 

Bucky went very still. "You're not going to Ithaca."

He sighed. "No. I am not."

"Good," Bucky said, firmly. "You deserve your own life, too."

Steve smiled and ducked his head. "We're going to get a house. Sharon and I."

A grin spread across the other man's face. "Gonna go play house?"

"I want to ask her to marry me. I sort of did, but not really, so it doesn't entirely count."

"Ah, Steve. Only you could sort of propose to someone. Do you have a ring?"

He gave Bucky a look. "If I did she'd be wearing it."

"Well, that might be a step to making it official," he said, unfazed at the glare. "And engagement ring shopping sounds like a very normal thing that guys who intend not to kill anyone anymore do."

It certainly did sound very. . .normal. "What about you?" he asked. "You gonna go get your girl?"

He had started cleaning up his things and stopped. "I don't know. Even if I'm not going upstate. . . she still needs her time, you know? I owe her that much."

Steve studied him. "Now I'm a little worried about leaving you. Should I be?"

"No," he said firmly. Then added, more gently, "I just don't want her to think she's my second choice. You go off with Sharon and I show up on her doorstep like a lost cat." He started reassembling the rifle as he spoke, barely even glancing at it. "If I'm gonna get her back I need to be . . . whoever it is I am. Not your sidekick or the Soldier or a ghost. I need to start my life and show her I want her part of it."

"What are you going to do?"

When the rifle was done he set it on the table and stared at it a moment. "First I'm going to figure out what I can do with my carpentry skills. Then I'm going to get a job." He tilted his head. "Probably gonna need a proper identity for that."

"Sharon will know how to get that done."

He nodded and Steve swore he could see the same relief in him that he'd been feeling since he decided to settle down. Those swords they'd both been lugging around sure had weighed a lot.

Bucky stood and went to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. "Well, let's go get you a ring to make an honest woman out of her."

*

The real estate agent was very nice when Sharon met with her, and didn't think their list was completely impossible. She referred to Steve as her fiancé, just to simplify things and to avoid actually having to mention him by name. He had been stuck up in New York, tying up a whole lot of loose ends. They talked on the phone a lot, and sent many emails back and forth. He came down on the weekends, and they crammed in house tours and lots of sex. Her apartment was small, and would be cramped if they were still in it when he moved down permanently.

She had to pull a few strings, and owe a couple people favors, but she managed to get Bucky set up with a fairly airtight new identity. It wouldn't hold up to serious scrutiny - he better not try to work in law enforcement or get an elected position - but it got him a contractor's license and a job with a reputable construction company which was all he wanted.

It was Friday afternoon. She got out of work early and took the subway to Union station to meet Steve's train. She as starting to wonder if a cramped apartment wouldn't be so bad.

He looked tired and apprehensive, and she felt a pang of worry as he wrapped her up in a hug. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too. What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"Nothing bad. Just. . . a dilemma."

She tucked her arm through his as they headed back towards the Metro. "Is it something I can help with?"

"It certainly very much affects you." He sighed. "Stark really wants me to come up to Ithaca for a couple of months to train the new team."

"Ah." Stark was handling Steve's retirement with his usual grace and understanding. "Have you talked to Natasha?"

"She's the one who put the bug in Stark's ear. He said he'd make it worth my while, I said no, he said everybody has a price." He glanced around, then said, "As of this morning, his bid was up to half a million dollars."

"That would help with the house," she conceded. They paused outside the gift shop and she looked up at him. "Did you ever sign a contract with him?"

"No. I'm a free agent. So it's entirely up to us to decide."

She nodded and they started walking again. "Honestly, I don't want you to do it. But I understand if you want to help out the team or feel it's worth it to have Stark buy our house."

"I don't want to be apart any longer. But I wonder if that's penny-wise and pound-foolish. We could buy a really nice house. Thirty years against three months?"

"I know, but on the other hand, it's not like we're kids right out of college. You have significant savings and I make a good salary. We're not hurting for funds."

"And yet we can't find a house."

"I don't know that that's entirely money related." Though, like everything in life, she supposed a higher budget would help. "Would training need to be a full time commitment?"

"I suppose that depends. I expect I'll have considerable control over what happens."

"Maybe the best this to do is sit down and figure out what terms would be acceptable to us and then go in negotiating strong."

"Have I told you how much I love you?"

She squeezed his arm. "You love me for my ruthless negotiating skills?"

"I love you for all your skills."

The way he said that bordered on dirty and she gave him a sly grin. "We have three house tours scheduled tomorrow."

"I promise not to break you," he replied, steady and serious, like they were discussing something mundane. It would have come across as almost prim, save for the eye-fucking that was going on.

"I typed up our itinerary," she told him, in the same tone she'd have told him the color of her lingerie or described the blow job she intended to give him. "Scheduled in fifteen minutes increments. With full write ups on each house."

He inhaled and exhaled forcefully. "We should get a cab."

"Abso-fucking-lutely."

Making out in the cab had been something she was looking forward to, particularly given the way his hands wandered over her rear while they waited at the cab stand. But the cabbie recognized Steve, and wanted to make conversation. Traffic was considerable, causing her to resign herself to an interminable ride in damp underwear. 

Then Steve casually shrugged out of his leather jacket and kind of tossed it across their laps. Before she could ask what he was doing, she could feel his hand on her thigh.

She turned and looked at him, wide eyed. She'd known she'd been meeting him, so she'd worn a skirt with stockings to work, despite it being Friday. His fingers were already stroking at the hem of her skirt, hot through the silk of her stocking.

_Seriously?_ she mouthed, surprised and turned on as hell.

In reply she got one shrugged shoulder, a cheshire cat grin, and his hand _under_ her skirt, sliding high enough to touch bare skin above her stocking top. She let out a long, slow breath and focused straight ahead. Rough fingertips stroked her thigh, gentle and coaxing, before nudging at her to open for him. She squeezed her legs together instinctively before shifting them apart, cheeks flushing.

While he was doing this to her, he was continuing to chit-chat with the driver. They were talking about the Smithsonian exhibit, of all things. She couldn't pay attention, really, not with him hooking his middle finger beneath her panties and brushing aimlessly against her clit. It was impossible to ignore but not nearly enough to get her off. So she hung in a haze of almost delirious arousal while the blathered on.

Reaching over, she put a hand on his knee - perfectly innocently - and sunk her nails into him through the denim. She could hear the grin in his voice, the jackass. The cab jerked to a halt in front of her building, and he withdrew his hand. She turned to look at him in time to see him absently suck his middle finger into his mouth before handing a handful of bills over to the cabbie.

The rush of heat that caused was downright embarrassing.

Her legs felt wobbly as they walked up the two flights of stairs to her apartment. He didn't lay a finger on her. When they were safely behind her front door she whirled on him and yanked him down for a rough kiss. "Goddammit, Steve."

He lifted her up against the wall and reached under her skirt to literally rip her underwear off. "I too have skills," he mumbled between kisses.

She groaned and wrapped her legs around him, reaching between them to unfasten his belt and jeans open. "Shut up and fuck me."

He made some sort of noise of assent. At least it seemed so, as he thrust inside her the moment she had him free. It was fast and rough and desperate. She moaned his name as he drove her higher and got rather loud when it finally burst. She really hoped none of her neighbors heard exactly how filthy a mouth she had in the heat of the moment. 

From the nearly painful way he clutched at her, the way he shook, and the equally dirty things that gasped in return, he must have come has hard as she did. Then they collapsed together in a heap on the floor.

When they had both caught their breath, she turned her head and kissed his cheek. "Welcome home."

He leaned back and looked at her, looking almost startled. Then he grinned. "I have something for you."

She laughed a little. "This wasn't enough?"

"Nope." He shifted her off him—she'd kind of landed on top of him—so he could sit up more, tuck himself back into his jeans, and dig something out of his pockets. She hadn't heard a word of it since Hawaii, long enough she'd stopped expecting it, long enough she was surprised when he opened his palm to reveal a diamond ring. "I've had this a while," he told her. "Had it in my head I was going to wait until we found our home, and do it there. But you know what? The building doesn't matter. You are what is home." 

For a few heartbeats it was hard to breathe. Because that was exactly what she'd meant. Because she'd live with him in a mansion or a cramped apartment or a trailer in a snowstorm and never regret it. And because despite the fact she was rumpled, with her skirt hiked up over her waist and had just been thoroughly fucked against a wall, it was the perfect proposal.

She cupped his face and kissed him. "Yes."


End file.
